


en passant

by peachbombs



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, like probably two seconds of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-05-29 04:11:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15064871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachbombs/pseuds/peachbombs
Summary: The first time Isak and Even had gone up against each other at a competition, the judges had declared a tie. Newspapers covered the occurrence as an unusual feat—it was a debate competition; one side had to win over another. That was the whole point.But it kept happening.Isak had the hard, indisputable facts, Even had the gripping anecdotes. As a team, Isak supposes they could’ve been unstoppable if it weren’t for their open hatred for each other.AKA the candy jar au





	1. satan's graffiti or god's art?

**Author's Note:**

> i rewatched parts of candy jar yesterday and got excited about all the potential evak fluff, so this is the result 
> 
> it won't mimic the movie exactly, but i anticipate the remaining chapters will be longer than this one; i just wanted to get this baby on the road for now :)

**ISAK**

Isak’s first temper tantrum of ‘99 was a result of the deep-seated realization that Even Bech Næsheim existed somewhere in the world.

At least, Isak assumes that’s the case.

“It would look better on my college applications.”

Isak scowls. “What about _my_ college applications?”

“I’m in Grade 13, you’re in Grade 12; I think you can do the math here.”

“Yeah, well, you were supposed to graduate last year but you didn't, and I would actually fucking like to graduate on time,” Isak mutters under his breath, but loud enough that Even can hear him.

“Language, Isak.” Principal Olsson sighs, like she’s regretting the decision to agree to meet with them, and Isak feels a little sorry for her. She’s new to the school, which means she’s never experienced the superstorm Isak and Even create when they’re in the same room together.

“Principal Olsson, with all due respect, I think I should be captain of the debate team,” Even says with a level of sincerity that Isak could only hope to achieve in his dreams.

Isak’s not an idiot; he knows that part of the reason why people are entranced by the words Even says is because of his charm. Compared to Isak’s grumpy countenance, it’s a no-brainer why Even’s the more approachable one, the one people actually congratulate after debate competitions, the one people don’t mind losing to as long as they get his number after. Are his debate skills actually any good? Doesn’t hold a candle to his supreme ability to hypnotize people with his stupid smile.

Isak rolls his eyes. “Give me a break.”

“Excuse me?” Principal Olsson seems affronted by Isak’s words.

Isak shakes his head, then leans forward. “No offence intended, but look, he just transferred here from Bakka. He’s basically still the competition. Not to mention, Sana and I are the reason we have a debate team at Nissen in the first place.”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Principal Olsson says, sounding regretful.

“That doesn’t make it any less true,” Isak nearly explodes, and Even’s biting his lip to keep from laughing. He’s not entirely successful because he snorts, and Isak glares at him.

“What about Sana, then? Maybe she could be captain.”

“No!” Isak and Even say in unison.

Principal Olsson raises her eyebrows. “Why not?”

“Because she’s got her hands full with other commitments,” Isak explains. “She’s not even going to be on the debate team anymore now that—now that he’s here and he pretty much fills our quota.” Isak waves a hand in Even’s general direction.

Principal Olsson thinks for a few seconds and clasps her hands together. “What about seniority?”

“So, me. I’m older.” Even grins at Isak, who rolls his eyes in response.

“She said seniority, not age. At Nissen, that’s me. I’ve won more national competitions than anyone else and—”

“—yeah, because you’re one of maybe five people on the debate team, it’s not exactly hard to win more competitions than any of them. At Bakka, on the other hand, we had a larger debate team, with around 30 people, and I’ve been debating lo—”

“—sounds like you should just go back to Bakka, then, and spare us both—”

“—do you debate the way you insult now? Because honestly, I’m having a hard time seeing how you're going to win any national competitions let alone—”

“—oh, fuck you, I can speak 160 words per—

“Stop. Talking.”

Isak and Even look at Principal Olsson and Isak thinks she realizes she’s been hit by the superstorm.

“While you two were squabbling like eight-year-olds, I made my decision. And there’s no room for argument.”

Isak and Even wait, wait to hear one name emerge triumphant over the other, and then: “Co-captains.”

Isak’s not sure he heard her right, and it seems like Even isn’t, either.

“Co-captains?” Even repeats.

“Co-captains,” Principal Olsson confirms. “You’re on the same team now. You’re not Nissen versus Bakka, so maybe this will teach you how to work together. Teamwork—perhaps the most essential quality you’ll have to imbibe before you apply for any colleges. Seems like you both need it.”

Isak barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes at Olsson.

*****

It’s not that Isak hates Even; it’s just that he strongly, very strongly, dislikes the guy. He knew who Even was even before he and Sana started the debate team at Nissen.

Even Bech Næsheim, Bakka’s fiercest debate competitor and son of Rasmus Bech Næsheim, editor-in-chief of the Oslo Daily Times.

Even wasn’t always a vocal debater. His humble beginnings could be traced back to the opinion pages of the Times, where he argued for and against a variety of topics, including that it was necessary for every student to have one arts-related extracurricular regardless of their eventual career interests and goals.

Isak wasn’t sure when Even started debating, but he knew Even always won, be it regional or national competitions.

Debating isn’t Isak’s passion; he doesn’t even love it as much as Sana, who was singlehandedly responsible for launching a debate team at school in the first place. But after being threatened into joining after some weed-related blackmail, Isak realized that he enjoyed it. He likes that there’s a method to the madness, that debates are won with facts and figures and not emotional, self-indulgent blubbering. Only, that’s not really how Even operates.

The first time Isak and Even had gone up against each other at a competition, the judges had declared a tie. Newspapers covered the occurrence as an unusual feat—it was a debate competition; one side had to win over another. That was the whole point.

But it kept happening.

Isak had the hard, indisputable facts, Even had the gripping anecdotes. As a team, Isak supposes they could’ve been unstoppable if it weren’t for their open hatred for each other.

OK, so maybe he did hate Even a little.

*****

“It could be a good thing.”

“I don’t see how Even and I working together could be a good thing in any universe.”

Sana rolls her eyes. “Because Even’s a good debater. Isn’t it better to have him on your side than against?”

“That’s only because he transferred,” Isak grumbles. “Who does that in their final year, anyway? Like, how do we know he’s not a double agent? Maybe his loyalties are still with Bakka and he’s working against us.”

“Because, and I want you to read my lips carefully, no one cares about debate competitions that much,” Sana says slowly, like she's talking to a 4-year-old. 

He supposes that’s a fair point. He certainly doesn’t care that much. No one who wins a national debate competition goes on to become a fat cat or anything. The prize money’s just enough to buy maybe two pairs of Nike Air Max, or for a more reasonable, thrifty person, to make a meager contribution to a college-abroad fund. But for Isak, it’s also enough to pay rent at the kollektiv without accepting the tainted guilt money from his pappa.

At the same time, though, he wants to beat Even. Not for the money or the fame, but because Even acts like his avant garde debating method is far superior to the tried and tested one. While everyone else, Isak included, spits out more facts and figures in a three-minute span than should be humanly possible, Even speaks slowly. Deliberately. Like every word he utters is weighed.

And people fall for it. Give Even standing ovations. Granted, it’s likely most people are just falling for _him._

“Can you stop thinking about Even and be a good biology partner?”

“I’m not thinking about Even,” Isak says indignantly.

Sana looks at him like she doesn’t believe him. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“That Even-got-under-my-skin-and-now-I’m-plotting-his-murder look.”

Isak rolls his eyes, but pretends to bury his head in his biology textbook. “Can you stop analyzing my expressions and be a good biology partner?” he mimics.

Sana just gives his shin a swift kick under the table in response.

* * *

**EVEN**

After his stint at Bakka, the last thing Even wants is to get back into debating at Nissen.

He misses it. Misses the back-and-forth sparring with strangers about globally relevant topics. The dull, empty ache in his heart tells him as much, but he doubts he’s ready to take the stage and argue it out with robotic debaters who spew out words faster than they can blink. Indubitably, now that he’s attending Nissen, there’s going to be a time when he’s going to be engaged in a heated speak-off with someone from Bakka—and not just anyone, but people who used to be his teammates. His friends. 

He’s not ready.

And yet, he sat next to Isak Valtersen in front of Principal Olsson, arguing about who deserved to become captain. He gave a shit because he was competitive by nature, because there was a part of him that had momentarily forgotten about Bakka and immersed itself in the insignificant then and now of a battle with Isak, but he didn’t actually give a shit anymore.

Olsson could’ve picked Isak, and all Even would’ve done was throw a taunt or two in Isak’s direction for the satisfaction of getting under his skin, but there’s nothing else in it for him.

Well, nothing else besides appeasing his mamma and pappa, both of whom are annoyingly concerned that he’s going to have another episode if he isolates himself, never mind the fact that he’d had several episodes long before he became the freak who had a mental breakdown in the middle of the canteen.

No one at Nissen knows, and still, it’s not easy to make friends.

That’s not true; he’s friendly with many and talks to people here and there. In fact, making friends has never been an issue, but it’s tiring. It’s not the same.

He misses the boys—misses Adam’s crude humor, misses Mutta’s stable, supportive presence, misses Elias’ warmth and openness, misses Yousef’s level-headedness and his shyness when he tries to flirt with Sana. Most of all, he misses his best friend, misses how effortless the conversations are, misses how easily Mikael can tell when something’s bothering him—he just misses Mikael. 

As it stands, he can’t bring himself to reach out to any of them, despite the numerous texts and calls they leave him every so often. Sonja has stuck by his side, probably more out of some unspoken obligation to his parents than anything else, but he’s sure she’s sleeping with someone else. She has to be. Even’s literally offering her nothing.

His newfound solitude is the reason he finds himself alone on a Friday evening, thumbing through the most recent contact in his phone. After a moment’s deliberation, he dives into the cold water headfirst. 

> **Even**
> 
> Halla
> 
> What are you doing?
> 
> **Isak**
> 
> Who is this

Even rolls his eyes to himself; he could've sworn Isak was the one who suggested they exchange numbers in the first place. 

> **Even**
> 
> It’s Even
> 
> I was thinking we should meet and talk about how we’re going to work together and stuff
> 
> **Isak**
> 
> Now?
> 
> **Even**
> 
> Sure
> 
> **Isak**
> 
> But it’s Friday
> 
> **Even**
> 
> I know what day it is
> 
> You in or out?
> 
> **Isak**
> 
> But
> 
> It’s Friday
> 
> **Even**
> 
> Is your phone broken or are you just this bad at texting
> 
> **Isak**
> 
> Fuck you, I’m an excellent texter
> 
> **Even**
> 
> I have yet to see any evidence of that
> 
> **Isak**
> 
> You’ll see
> 
> **Even**
> 
> That a promise?
> 
> ;)
> 
> **Isak**
> 
> Ugh
> 
> **Even**
> 
> So?
> 
> In or out?
> 
> Because it’s kind of unbecoming of a co-captain to leave his other co-captain high and dry
> 
> I know Olsson would hate to hear that
> 
> **Isak**
> 
> ???
> 
> Are you really threatening to rat me out for not wanting to do school-related stuff on a Friday
> 
> **Even**
> 
> You keep telling me it’s Friday
> 
> Got a hot date or something?
> 
> **Isak**
> 
> No
> 
> **Even**
> 
> Then?
> 
> **Isak**
> 
> Fine
> 
> But you’re annoying

*****

They meet at Nissen because Isak’s friends are attending some kind of russ-related meeting. After roaming around the halls for a bit, they find an unlocked classroom and set up camp, which really just means Isak takes out his laptop and starts typing something.

Already.

Never mind the fact that they haven’t begun discussing anything.

Isak’s smart—Even would go as far as to call him brilliant—but he’s not quite as high-strung as most of the other debate nerds.

For one, he doesn’t bother dressing up for the competitions. He wears the same thing he always does—jeans, a hoodie or sweatshirt of some kind, a bomber, and a snapback. It’s almost enviable how Isak puts himself out there and lets strangers judge him for his material rather than what's at face-value. For another, when he lost to Even a handful of times, all he had done was roll his eyes. There hadn’t been much anger, much disappointment, much of anything besides a sarcastic ‘congratulations.’ And Even _knows_ it was sarcastic. 

“So, I’m thinking we should narrow it down, stick to one style of debating,” Isak says, still typing.

“You know, it's rude to type and have a conversation with your co-captain." 

"Don't care," Isak mutters, but he turns his laptop so Even can see the screen. “I’m making a pros and cons list.”

Even laughs. “You’re making a pros and cons list? Of what?”

“Facts versus emotions.” Isak shrugs, like it’s obvious.

“Facts versus emotions?”

“Are you just going to keep repeating what I’m saying? How do you even win debates?”

“How many more lame digs can I expect from you tonight?”

“Tonight? At least fifty,” Isak snarks back.

“Fifty? Being a little optimistic there, aren’t you?”

“Nope.”

“So, facts versus emotions?” Even presses.

Isak sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. If he wasn’t so dead set on being as annoying as possible, Even thinks he might’ve found him cute.

“My debating style versus yours, essentially.”

“Mine, obviously.”

Isak grits his teeth. “Hold your horses until I finish making the list.”

“Why? No, come on, stop typing.”

Isak complies with a scowl, but raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“You wanna know which method’s better? Mine. And I’m not saying it because it’s mine. It’s not. Other people use it. And it’s effective because nothing captures people’s interest the way adding a human element does.”

“Nothing except shocking and revelatory facts and figures,” Isak points out. “There’s a whole line of storytelling that uses statistics and numbers as a base. Because numbers are indisputable. Your dad never tell you about that?”

“I know what data journalism is,” Even says, waving his hand. “But my dad would also tell you that those kind of stories mean nothing if there isn’t a human component to it, telling you why those facts and figures matter. It’s not even a story without that human element. You might as well just make a graph.”

Isak makes a frustrated sound. “We’re not arguing about stories right now. Look, your method works on a conditional basis. It doesn’t work for every topic.”

Even shrugs. “Try me, then.”

“Hmm?”

“Give me an example of a topic where I couldn’t use my method.”

Isak looks exasperated, but he’s quiet for a few seconds and Even knows he’s thinking of a topic. “Fine, parallel universes. You can’t argue about parallel universes and attach a personal component to it.”

“Sure I can.”

“Go for it, then.”

“If parallel universes exist, I would think you’re incredibly frustrating in every universe.”

Isak rolls his eyes. “Ditto.”

In the end, Isak’s pros and cons list proves to be fruitless, but Even didn’t expect much more. His method works, and if Isak’s method works for him, who’s he to dissuade Isak from doing what he likes? But Isak looks so infuriated, his hair in a disarray and his eyebrows furrowed together, that Even can’t help but feel a little endeared by the sight.

“I have a proposition.”

“I’m not going to like this,” Isak says.

“You’re not,” Even agrees, but Isak raises his eyebrows, as if motioning for Even to go on. “For the next debate, we trade.”

“What do you mean we trade?”

“I use facts and figures and you use anecdotes. Whoever wins, well, wins.”

“What’s the prize?”

“Other than the satisfaction of being right? Loser has to do whatever winner says.” Even smirks, then holds his hand out toward Isak. “Deal?”

Isak hesitates for the briefest of seconds, and it’s gone before Even can call him out on it. “Deal.”

* * *

 


	2. back-rank checkmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a thing to note (since i didn't label it this time), wherever there's a line separation, the pov switches from even to isak and vice-versa 
> 
> also, this chapter is pretty heavy with debate mentions so please suspend disbelief if my descriptions aren't universally accurate!!! <3

Looking up facts and figures to corroborate his arguments is the easiest thing in the world. Even understands why people prefer it to the anecdotal approach.

Numbers stand on their own; there’s less thinking, less work involved, and for the first time in his life, Even appreciates it. He knows there are people within the debating circles who are anticipating his comeback after being absent for six months, and it eases his nerves a little to know that he doesn’t have to take any risks. Maybe Isak’s method is better, after all.

Isak, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be adapting to Even’s method all that well, especially considering he’s been dragged kicking and screaming out of his comfort zone.

It’s the day before regionals. Everyone in the team—and by everyone, Even means Isak, Vilde, three others he doesn't know and a teacher—gathers in a classroom. Watching Isak practice almost makes him cringe. It’s clear to everyone he’s out of his element.

“What are you doing?” Miss Berg finally interrupts Isak. 

Isak looks a little lost, but defensive all the same. “Debating.”

“That’s not how you debate.”

“There’s no one right way to debate,” Isak counters.

“I know that, but I’m saying that’s not how _you_ debate.”

Isak’s gaze meets Even’s for a split second. “I’m trying something new,” he says without missing a beat.

“Can you try out something new in your spare time and not jeopardize our chances of winning regionals?”

Isak openly rolls his eyes, but he nods. Even wonders how he gets away with disrespecting a teacher, and his only explanation is that Miss Berg must be secretly fond of him. But Miss Berg’s appeased for a total of two minutes. As soon they start practicing again, Isak does exactly what she asked him not to.

“Isak,” Miss Berg starts, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Do you know where nationals are this year?”

“No.”

“It’s in Bergen. Do you know what that means?”

“Uh, that we might go to Bergen?”

“It means that if we qualify, I will finally, after ten years, get a weekend to myself.”

“OK?” Isak looks so disinterested in the conversation that Even has to try not to laugh.

“So, you better not screw this up.”

Isak shrugs. “OK.”

“All right, let’s try this again.” Miss Berg claps her hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Schools should enforce stringent attendance policies to motivate students. Vilde will argue the affirmative, Isak will argue the negative. You both have three minutes to prepare.”

While Vilde types without giving her fingers a moment’s rest, Isak looks thoughtful. After a few seconds, he jots something down in his notebook. At the three-minute mark, Vilde steps forward to argue her case at rapid speed. When it’s Isak’s turn, Even waits, wonders about the deliberate words he wrote, wonders if he’ll chance pissing off Miss Berg again.

He doesn’t.

He plays it safe. He imitates Vilde. He makes his case using facts and figures and numbers and statistical evidence. Isak wins the round, and Even doesn’t know why he feels disappointed.

******

“Bye, Isak,” some girl with short hair—Emma, maybe—says brightly.

Isak gives a half-hearted wave in response.

Somehow, they’re the last to leave. It’s not entirely surprising, Even supposes. Second only to Miss Berg and Vilde, he and Isak are probably the only ones who actually give a shit about the competition. Well, Even secondhand-gives-a-shit because he doesn’t want to give his parents any more reasons to nag him.

Isak’s focused on untangling his headphones when Even breaks the silence. “You broke the deal.”

“Hmm?” Isak looks confused for a moment before realization dawns on him and he rolls his eyes. Even idly wonders if he’s more prone to headaches, owing to his alarmingly frequent eye-rolls. “The deal was for the actual competition, not the practice session. Besides, you know Berg would’ve ripped me a new one if I’d fucked around.”

Even leans against one of the desks and eyes the notebook peeping out of Isak’s brown leather bag. “What were you writing?”

“When?”

“You know when.”

“Maybe it’s something personal.”

“So, you were writing in your diary when you were allotted time to research?”

“Yep.”

Even raises his eyebrows.

“No, yeah, I was writing about how annoying and nosy you are. Managed to turn into a poem. I’m thinking of submitting it to a poetry competition.”

Even smirks. “All I’m hearing is you wrote a poem about me because you apparently can’t stop thinking about me.”

Isak averts his gaze and Even feels strangely satisfied. “Fuck off.”

“Let’s try this again, then. What were you actually writing?”

Isak hesitates, eyeing Even warily like he’s not sure he trusts Even with whatever information he’s about to reveal. The guy’s cagey as shit, Even learns.  

“The topic—it made me think of one of my roommates and what happened to her because of her school’s attendance policy. I had an anecdote,” Isak admits.

“Why didn’t you use it?”

Isak rolls his eyes. Again.

Even thinks he could make a personal game out of his interactions with Isak. Sarcastic jabs directed at Even: 50 points, general snark: 30 points, eye-rolling: 20 points, every answering flush when Even says something remotely suggestive: 150 points.

“Because it went over so well with Berg when I tried to use your stupid method,” Isak mutters sarcastically.

Fifty points, Even thinks.

“Anyway, it’s not really my story to tell,” Isak continues. “And that’s the frustrating thing. There’s no hard evidence to prove the school system was at fault. It’s her word against a bunch of admins who don’t give a shit.”

“First of all, you’re not using her story and passing it off as your own, so you really don’t need to take some moral high ground about it not being your story. Other people’s stories are better than your own, anyway, so you don’t come off as self-indulgent. Besides, you don't have to reveal everything. You can choose what to use.”  

Isak doesn’t look convinced. “Was there a second of all?”

Even shrugs. “It’s nothing I haven’t already told you.”

“I try to zone out when you talk, so.”

Isak Valtersen is a special breed of frustrating. But Even gives him a small smile nonetheless. “If you don’t know, if you genuinely don’t understand the point I’ve been trying to make, then honestly, you’d be better off debating the way you always do.”

* * *

Isak’s pre-competition ritual has never included sobriety or much sleep. He has beers, he has entertaining friends; he’s not going to postpone either of that for an anxiety-riddled night alone.

Except, he feels like he’s having an anxiety-riddled night in the company of his friends and a few cans of Ringnes because he can’t stop thinking about what Even said to him before he left. Isak’s at a loss for what to do.

He _should_ just do what he’s good at. It’s not like he actually gives a shit about what Even will think of him if he does. Plus, it’s a reliable method; it’s what’s earned him all the debating accolades he has in his arsenal now. There’s really no point in taking a chance because of some stupid bet with Even.

At the same time, though, something nags at his brain. The words he’d jotted down. Linn’s story. He almost wishes he’d been brave enough to take a chance, Miss Berg and her stupid weekend alone in Bergen be damned, and actually practice. Just to get a second opinion, just to see if he could have the same impact Even did.

“Isak?”

Jonas is nudging him, and Isak turns his attention back to the boys.

“Nervous?” Jonas asks.

Isak shakes his head.

“You’ll kill it, bro, no need to stress,” Mahdi says.

“Yeah, and you can buy us beers with the prize money,” Magnus adds with a grin. “Or you can help me hook up with Vilde. She’s going to be there tomorrow, right?”

Isak nods. “She’s not gonna want to hook up with you when she has to spend most of the day arguing about whether euthanasia is a good thing or not, Mags.”

“Not to mention, I don’t think she’s gonna want to hook up with you period,” Mahdi says with a laugh.

“Too desperate,” Jonas agrees.

Magnus argues with them for a while before the topic shifts to something else. It’s easy, so goddamn easy, to have a chill night in with the boys. Sometimes, mostly when they’re pestering him to hook up with one girl or another or when they ditch him for stupid meetings and events Sana somehow blackmails into, Isak forgets he’s lucky to have found his group of people.

Jonas nudges him again, and Isak turns to look at him.

“How’s it going? With that new Even guy?” he asks.

“Even?” Magnus interrupts before Isak can respond. “What the fuck? Even Bech Næsheim’s on your team? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Isak shrugs, confused. “The fuck, why do you care?”

“Because Vilde’s on the team. Duh.”

“So?”

“So, you think she’s actually gonna go for me when she could spend time with Even Bech Næsheim instead? Do they talk?”  

Isak rolls his eyes. “Yeah, didn’t I tell you? He proposed to her during practice today.” Magnus looks unimpressed, and Isak laughs. “I literally don’t pay that much attention to either of them, Mags, I don’t fucking know if they talk.” Although, Isak supposes the more accurate version of the truth is that he expends a lot more energy forcing himself not to pay attention to Even than Vilde.

******

Isak doesn’t sleep well. He wakes up at 5 a.m., earlier than he needs to, and spends some time prepping. Just in case. He might act as if he doesn’t give a shit about whether he wins or loses on most days, but not on competition days. On competition days, he actually gives a shit, actually wants to win.

No one in the kollektiv’s up yet, and he knows they won’t be until they absolutely need to be awake.

For the first time in his short debating career, he stresses over what to wear just to direct his anxieties someplace other than deciding what he’s going to do as far as his deal with Even’s concerned. He picks out a gray button-up from his closet and checks his reflection in the mirror. Smart, but unlike him. He’s not overdressed or anything; most people suit up for the competition, but he thinks it might draw attention to him. He changes back into the Nike sweatshirt he had on and decides to ditch his snapback for the day. After feeling sufficiently ridiculous about over-thinking something so insignificant, he heads out.

The regionals are at Bakka. When he arrives, he spots Miss Berg, Vilde, and Emma, who waves at him eagerly.

How she can look so chipper at 7 a.m. on a Saturday, Isak has no fucking clue, but he walks over to her and suffers through a dull conversation. Luckily, Emma talks like she’s debating even when she’s having a regular conversation and it bodes well for Isak that he’s not required to be an eager contributor to the conversation.

A few minutes later, Even walks in. 

Even’s one of the debate dorks who suits up for the competitions. Or, he used to be before he went AWOL for six months. Now, he’s in a navy plaid shirt and jeans. Neat and put-together, but unusual for him.

He also looks nervous and Isak momentarily wonders if he’s conflicted about using Isak’s method to debate until his gaze absently tracks and follows Even’s to where a group of Bakka kids are standing.

Right. Even used to be on that team.

After a few minutes, Bakka’s principal begins speaking into a microphone and they’re all given name tags, instructing them which classroom everyone needs to be in for the first round.

From the girl’s name tag, Isak learns his first opponent is someone from Nydalen. Their judge—a parent or a teacher—reads out the instructions.

“If you win this round, you’ll advance to the remaining two,” he says in a monotone voice. “If you’re among the two debaters who earn the most points, you will have a fourth, and final, public debate. The schools that represent those two students go on to compete at the nationals in Bergen. You each have five minutes to prepare. You will have two minutes to deliver your introduction and conclusion and four minutes for your explanatory statements. If you would like to hand me a copy of your research before you begin so I can follow along, you may do so.”

At the end of his little speech, the man stands up and passes them both a slip of paper with the topic and their argumentative stance on it.

“Five minutes to prepare begins now.”

_Science and religion should coexist. You will argue the negative._

Isak’s vaguely aware that the girl is taking notes while she simultaneously types something on her iPad. The clock ticks. He sees the timer. Three minutes and twenty seconds left.

After the girl gives her opening statements, Isak stands behind the podium. Takes a deep breath. Does what he knows best. He spits out the words as fast as he can.

“Science and religion provide two different explanations for the same things, such as the creation of human life, the beginning of the universe, and the creation of the Earth, among others,” Isak begins. “In my succeeding, explanatory statements, I will argue why religion and science cannot coexist based on cross-cultural, empirical evidence.”

* * *

Even wins two out of three debates, and frankly, he’s just relieved he didn’t lose all three. It had been nerve-wracking. His first competitor had been someone from Bakka, someone who didn’t know him, but clearly knew _of_ him.

To his relief, he won the first two and tanked the third for no reason other than boredom. He was bored. He was so mind-numbingly bored of researching dull facts and figures. He didn’t know how Isak and most of the others did it so effortlessly. He doesn’t rack up enough points to qualify for the public debate, but that’s a blessing in disguise.

He’s not ready. He’s definitely not ready to stand on Bakka’s stage, in front of the numerous parents and kids who know what happened, who probably even saw what happened firsthand.

Even, along with a slew of people, file into the auditorium for the public debate. He finds a seat next to Vilde, who he learns also won two out of three debates. She seems a little dejected, but not entirely disappointed, which Even’s selfishly grateful for because he doesn’t have the energy to console anyone right now.

“Now, everyone, the moment you’ve been waiting for—the two schools standing are Nissen and Bakka. Please give it up for our top debaters,” Principal Nilsen says just as Isak and a guy Even vaguely recognizes take their seats on stage. “Here is your topic: schools should have more lax attendance policies. Isak Valtersen from Nissen will argue the affirmative and Ahmed Yazdani from Bakka will argue the negative. Same rules apply. Your five minutes begins now.”

Even watches Isak type something on his iPad, and he realizes that Isak did break their deal. Which is just as well. Isak’s thriving as a debater with the method he uses; Even’s almost relieved he ultimately went against the trade-off.

“Isak, you’re up,” Principal Nilsen says when the five minutes are up.

Isak takes the podium, and there’s complete silence. He hasn’t said anything for ten seconds. Finally: “Schools should relax stringent attendance rules because it’s—um—uh—sorry.”

Even sits up in his seat a little when Isak abruptly stops talking. Next to him, Vilde tenses. Isak looks conflicted and Even feels like a jerk for getting in his head. However much they may dislike each other, it hadn't actually been his intention to screw Isak over. 

Isak has around thirty seconds left on the clock before he speaks again. “This is the story of my friend Linn and the way the school system—and more specifically, the stringent attendance policy enforced in schools—let her down.”

Though the words come a minute and a half too late, it has an effect. Even can practically feel the ripple of interest that goes through the audience.

Isak incorporates some statistics to strengthen his arguments for his explanatory statements. By the time Isak gets to making his concluding statements, he’s made up for the way he lost his footing in the beginning. He speaks slowly and clearly and the audience is hanging on to his every word, entranced by the character of Linn, by the crass carelessness of her school.

“‘Health’ shouldn’t just extend to accommodating physical ailments,” Isak says. “Schools need to extend their care to every student and not just label them ‘inattentive’ or ‘lazy’ because they miss school. Do we skip class for things that don’t matter, like a minor fever or a hangover or because we were up too late at a concert on a weeknight? Sure. We do. But if students start exceeding the attendance limit, the school should make it a point to check on them, not neglect their very existence until the only option remaining is to fail them. Schools can’t claim they’re moulding and shaping the brightest minds of this generation if they leave some students by the wayside. It’s not OK to pick and choose which minds to mould; this isn’t a buffet. We’re all bright minds of this generation and we deserve to be treated as such. Thank you.”

Even knows Isak has won the debate even before Principal Nilsen announces it and hands him a trophy. He joins everyone else in the thunderous applause. 

* * *

The minute he leaves the auditorium, trophy in hand, Isak searches for Linn.

The boys find him first—they reward him with hugs and claps on the back, but Isak needs to find Linn. His heart feels strangely light and heavy at the same time. Before he has time to process what’s happening, someone’s sprinting toward him and enveloping him in a hug.

Isak relaxes and hugs Linn back.

“I’m sorry, I know I should’ve asked you—I used your real name and everything—”

Linn pulls back and her eyes are shining with tears. “I actually had fun at this stupid thing for the first time,” she says.

Isak feels floored. This is his relationship with Linn. Of course she’s not going to thank him or tell him he did a good job, and Isak doesn’t want it any other way. He grins and gives her a kiss on the cheek before Eskild declares it’s his turn and gives him a rib-crushing hug.

When he moves on to hug Sana, he spots Even from over her shoulder. Even’s looking right at him, but there isn’t any smugness on his face. No hint of a lingering ‘I told you so.’ After hugging Eva and Vilde, he tears himself away from the group and slowly wills himself to walk over to Even.

“You’ve got quite a lot of fans,” Even says, grinning and nodding his head in the direction of Isak’s friends.

"Yeah, I guess." The laugh that comes out of Isak’s mouth sounds awkward and stilted. But not any more awkward and stilted than the stupid words that come out of his mouth next. “So, uh, I won.”

Even raises his eyebrows. “I saw. Come to gloat?”

“What? No, I was just—”

“I’m kidding,” Even interrupts. “Congratulations. So, what do you want me to do?”

“Huh?”

“You won, I lost. Rules of our bet dictated the loser has to do whatever the winner says,” Even reminds.

Isak had forgotten all about that. “Oh—fuck, I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it.”

Even laughs. “You do that.”

“So—” Isak stops short. He really doesn’t know what to say. It’s discomfiting—this easy, pleasant conversation he’s having with Even—but he also feels exhilarated from the rush of standing in front of hundreds of people, from winning, from taking a chance.

Even raises his eyebrows. “So?”

Isak backtracks. He’s not ready to say anything meaningful to Even—the guy would probably laugh in his face if Isak thanked him. For what exactly, he wasn’t even sure. “Vilde’s having a party tonight.”

“I know, she invited me.” Even’s smiling and he looks so kind that Isak doesn’t think he’s actually got a spiteful bone in his body.

“Are you going?”

“Yeah. You?”

Isak shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Well, I’ll maybe see you tonight, then.” Even claps Isak’s shoulder before he leaves, and Isak doesn’t know why he feels like his shoulder’s burning. Maybe it was just too warm for a sweatshirt.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know there's a hotel scene coming up soon


	3. drive-by buddy

Vilde’s hosting the party, but it’s at Eva’s house.

Isak goes because, well, Jonas wants to see Eva, Magnus wants to see Vilde, Mahdi just wants to hook up with any available, hot girl, and after the morning he’s had, Isak deserves to get drunk and have a good time.

Within five minutes of getting to the party, the boys disperse after promising to meet in the bathroom at 22:30 to smoke the bowl Jonas wants to pack. Jonas finds Eva, Mahdi’s chatting up some girl, and Magnus talks to Chris in an attempt to pin down Vilde's exact location. Isak just sinks down on the couch with a beer.

He’s not alone for too long; Emma joins him no less than five minutes after he’s taken a seat. He’s not entirely sure what’s happening or what she’s saying, but he’s aware that he’s touching the underwire of her bra for some godforsaken reason. It hits him perhaps a month too late that she’s flirting with him, that she has _been_ flirting with him for a while now. 

Isak excuses himself under the guise of getting another drink, but really, he just wants a break from Emma. She's nice, really sweet, but she had been getting too close and everything about it had been sickening—her perfume, the prospect of leading her on when he wasn’t even remotely interested, the fact that she wasn’t a dude, all of it.

> **Magnus**
> 
> Bro, who was the girl you were talking to
> 
> She’s so hot???????
> 
> I thought she only dated models wtf
> 
> **Isak**
> 
> Nah
> 
> Got some psycho vibes from her
> 
> **Mahdi**
> 
> Who cares??
> 
> She’s hot as hell
> 
> Like Natalie fucking Portman
> 
> **Magnus**
> 
> Yeah I literally wouldn’t give a shit if she told me she had murdered every dude she’s slept with and cut off their dicks
> 
> **Jonas**
> 
> Really Mags?
> 
> **Isak**
> 
> I’m going home
> 
> **Jonas**
> 
> You ok?
> 
> **Isak**
> 
> Yeah, just tired
> 
> Woke up at like 5 today so
> 
> **Jonas**
> 
> Nerd
> 
> :)
> 
> Call us tomorrow, yeah?
> 
> **Isak**
> 
> Yep
> 
> Have a good night boys

By the time Isak gets to the tram stop, his group chat nearly explodes with texts from the boys as they try to coordinate where to meet to smoke Jonas’ bowl. It starts to rain as he waits, and more and more people seek solace under the small roof of the station. Isak waits it out; line 12 is supposed to be there in four minutes and he has no ardent desire to group up with a bunch of strangers.

When he boards the tram, Isak regrets his decision because he’s soaking wet. He spots a few empty seats ahead of him, but decides against dripping water everywhere.

“Raining outside?”

Isak glances up, surprised. Even looks amused, probably because Isak looks like a rat that had only recently been rescued from a drowning incident. He only manages to nod in response before glancing away, his throat tight. He didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed Even standing right there. His only explanation is that his vision had been compromised because of the stupid torrential downpour. He’s not even drunk anymore; he thinks the rain sucked the alcohol out of his body like a beer-addicted leech.

“Good talk,” Even comments with a laugh.

Isak shrugs with one shoulder. “Coming back from Eva’s party?” he asks without meeting Even’s eyes.

“Didn’t go.”

“You said you were going.”

“Didn’t know you took RSVPs so seriously.”

“Fuck off, I don’t. You just—you said you would maybe see me there or whatever.” Isak waves his hands and hopes he comes across as nonchalant as he wants to.

“What, were you looking for me?” Even’s voice is teasing, and when Isak glances up, he notices that his tone has manifested itself quite pleasingly on Even’s features as well. His eyebrows are raised, his lips are twitching, and his blue eyes are practically sparking with mirth. It’s annoying.

“I just asked you if you were coming from Eva’s party, so obviously, I didn’t even notice whether you were there or not,” Isak points out.

“Sure,” Even agrees easily, but Isak detects a hint of sarcasm. “Party end already? It’s not even 22.”

Isak shakes his head. “Left early.”

“Hot date?”

“With my bed and a bottle of Fanta.”

“Kinky.”

“The fuck? You’re—you’re so—”

Isak struggles to find the words, but Even just raises his eyebrows in response. “Handsome? Charming? Funny? I’ve gotten all of that before.”

“Annoying,” Isak and Even say at the same time.

“Figured you might say that.” Even grins, and Isak thinks he’s never felt this simultaneously frustrated and endeared, but mostly frustrated.

* * *

There’s a part of Even that acknowledges Isak’s cute, even hot, and he shouldn’t be, not when he's been mercilessly rained on. And yet, the gray T-shirt he’s wearing clings to his skin, revealing the tight lines of his body.

Even feels a strange pull of want that would be idiotic of him to act on, not least because he’s technically still with Sonja. That reminds him; he probably does need to break things off with her sooner rather than later. It wouldn’t be that tough; Sonja would be relieved to be free of him and Even’s positive of that. But maybe that’s another reason it would be senseless of him to act on anything with Isak, even if it is just physical. Isak, who looks at his phone and mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath.

“What?”

Isak looks up like he doesn’t realize he’d actually cursed out loud. “Nothing.”

Even doesn’t press because Isak looks pissed for whatever reason.

“This is my stop,” Even finally says when the announcer calls out the last station. “Is it yours?”

“Huh?”

Even raises his eyebrows. “This is the last stop.”

“Oh.”

Isak gets off the tram with Even, but looks around like he’s taking in his surroundings and debating what to do next.

“You don’t live here,” Even guesses.

Isak scowls, but he shakes his head after a few seconds.

“Where do you live?”

“Deichmans Gate.”

“You realize you could’ve gotten off a while ago?”

Isak gives him a thoroughly unimpressed stare, the effect of which is somehow negated since they’re both standing in the rain.

“Well, come on then.”

“Come on where?” Isak asks, sounding dumbfounded, but he follows Even nonetheless.

“It’s raining and you missed your stop, so.” Even shrugs and leads the way to his apartment. They’re both drenched when they enter Even’s flat.

“I could’ve just waited for the next tram.” Isak sounds wary and Even wonders if he’s generally this distrustful of everyone. Probably not his friends.

“Wouldn’t want the debate champion to get sick. Berg would hate it if I let that happen to you. Here.” Even hands him a towel and goes into his own bedroom to peel off his wet clothes and change. When he returns, Isak’s hair is standing up every which way, but he hasn’t actually moved an inch. “Do you want a change of clothes?” Even asks.

Isak shrugs like it doesn’t make a difference to him either way, and Even supposes that’s as good an answer as any. He hands Isak a hoodie and a pair of sweats. Isak accepts, but hesitates for a moment before changing. Even looks because he doesn't turn away fast enough, and he almost regrets it when he gets an eyeful of Isak's body underneath all the wet clothes. Hastily, and a little regretfully, Even turns his back on Isak and retreats into the kitchen, grabbing a beer for himself and one for Isak.

Isak’s looking at the drawings on the wall when Even hands him a beer.

“Did you draw these?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.”

Even can’t help but smirk. “If you like them, you can tell me.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Isak says, defensive.

“So, you don’t like it?”

“Wasn’t going to say that, either.”

“OK.”

Isak accepts the beer without any hesitation, sits on the couch after a few sips, and content that he seems a little more relaxed than he normally does, Even follows suit and sits next to him.

“There’s four people living in my flat, including me,” Isak says abruptly after a few seconds.

Even’s confused. “OK?”

“There are three rooms. Linn’s in her room, Eskild brought a guy home, and so did Noora.”

Understanding dawns on him then. “So, you were sexiled,” Even offers.

Isak glares, but nods. “Yeah.”

Even shrugs. “You can stay and take the couch if you want. I don’t have roommates.”

“I was gonna go back to the party.”

“You can do that, too.”

“I know.” Isak sounds a little irritated, and Even has honestly never met anyone he’s this incapable of charming. “What about her?” Isak asks after a few seconds, nodding in the direction of an old, framed picture of Even and Sonja, from when they were 15. Even thinks it was New Year’s Eve; they had only been dating for a little less than a year, but Sonja had fit into the family well. Even’s parents loved her the minute they’d known of her.

“What about her?” Even asks.

“Doesn’t she live here?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Is she your sister?” Isak looks confused.

“I don’t know what you think people do with their sisters, but I don’t believe in holding anyone who’s related to me like that,” Even says with a small laugh. “Why does she have to be my sister to not live here?”

“Because.” Isak seems like he’s struggling to find the right words and Even waits. “Because she was on the debate team, too, right? She went to Bakka? And she graduated and you were supposed to, so I just figured—” Isak stops short midway and looks a little embarrassed.

“You figured we’d have our shit together because we’re what, two years older than you?”

“No,” Isak grumbles under his breath, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks and Even knows he’s caught him in a lie.

“Well, we don’t,” Even says after a few seconds. “And she doesn’t live here, so you can crash if you want to.”

Isak looks at him, but then nods. “OK.”

* * *

Isak wishes he had an answer for why wearing Even’s clothes and sleeping on his couch, snuggled up in his blanket, does strange things to his heart. He doubts it has anything to do with Even himself; he’s just never had this before. With anyone.

He’s never been the one to feel any kind of thrill from seeing a girl wear his clothes; he’s just been mildly annoyed because first of all, he doesn't have very many clothes, OK, and second of all, the last thing he wants his clothes to smell like is the ghost of a Victoria’s Secret model. In fact, the closest he had come to feeling even the tiniest sparks of something akin to thrill was when he and Jonas used to exchange clothes. But now, Jonas’ closet is practically Isak’s and vice-versa and they’re so platonic that there’s a recently salted snail where the thrill in his heart used to be.

With Even, though, it’s different.

He’s a boy—an objectively attractive boy, one Isak doesn’t have romantic or platonic feelings for. He’s just _Even._

Isak doesn’t know how long he lies awake, breathing in the scent of the hoodie Even had loaned him. He idly wonders if all of Even’s clothes smell like that, like honey with a hint of weed. He wonders if Even smells like that. Maybe he can make some sort of an excuse to get close to him during the next few practice sessions and find out.

The thought startles him and he sits up just as he hears the toilet flush in the bathroom. He can’t see anything in the dark, but he hears Even’s footsteps as he walks into the kitchen.

“You can turn on light,” Isak says.

“Jesus shit.” Even turns on the light and Isak sees he’s holding a hand to his chest.

“Did I scare you?” Isak smirks.

“Yeah, wait till I pull that shit on you and see how not-scared you are,” Even mutters, but he walks toward Isak after filling up a glass of water. “Can’t sleep?”

“No, no, this is how I sleep, in an upright position, with my eyes wide open,” Isak says sarcastically.

Even hangs his head in his hands and groans. It’s a cute sound.

Ugh.

Isak’s been drugged by Even’s clothes; there’s no other explanation for the stupid thoughts in his brain.

“How are you this snarky at 3 a.m.?” Even asks.

“Snark doesn’t sleep, Even.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Isak asks.

“Why aren’t you?”

“I asked first.”

“I asked second.”

“Holy hell, you’re a fucking child,” Isak grumbles. “How do you know I wasn’t sleeping and you woke me up with the racket you were making?”

Even looks at him for a long moment, and Isak tries not to squirm under the attention. “Because you look like you’ve been awake for a while.”

Isak shrugs. “Your turn.”

“You know you didn’t actually answer my question.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Isak says, frustrated.

“Same.”

“OK.”

They’re silent for a few moments, and then Even stands up. Isak thinks he’s about to go back to bed, but he grabs his denim jacket from where he’d left it draped behind a chair. “Wanna go get some food?”

**

Isak’s not sure how they end up in McDonald’s in sweatpants, but they do. A part of him wonders what kind of a picture they create—both him and Even with ruffled hair, in clothes they wear to sleep underneath jackets, standing in McDonald’s at 3 a.m.

Even pays for the burger Isak ordered before he realizes that his wallet is still in his jeans. Which is at Even’s place.

Yeah, to an outsider, their whole situation could probably be misconstrued easily. 

“I’ll pay you back,” Isak says.

Even just shrugs. “Or you can just let me be captain.”

“Are you serious?”

Even smirks and leans against the wall, sipping his drink, as they wait for their food. Isak doesn’t understand how he manages to look like a fucking model under the harsh fluorescent lights in McDonald’s.

Isak rolls his eyes. “You’re kidding.”

“Look at that, you’re finally getting the hang of my humor.” Even nudges him playfully and Isak scowls.

“Your humor’s pretty shit.”

“Kind of like your insults.”

“More like your face.”

“You’re right, I stand corrected, your insults are very sophisticated.”

“Piss off.”

“I don’t think that’s how you treat the guy who bought you dinner, Isak, where are your manners?”

Before Isak has a chance to respond, the server calls out Even’s number and gives them both a smile. “You two have a good night.”

“Oh, we will.” Even looks right at Isak when he fucking _winks_.

Or tries to, anyway.

* * *

Even follows Isak to a booth, and they mostly eat in silence, barring the few back-and-forth insults they trade. But Even feels strangely satisfied. He wonders if he’s just missed the company of someone, anyone, even if it’s not the friendliest person on the planet.

But Isak’s entertaining in his own right. He’s frustrating and painfully snarky and funny and—yeah, Even will say it—cute even when he’s trying his hardest to be a complete asshole to Even.

“Can I ask you something? About the debate?” Even finally says. Isak shrugs, and Even takes that as his cue. “Why’d you do it?”

Isak looks like he’d been anticipating the question, but he just shrugs again. “Got lucky, I guess,” he mutters. “I’ve never come across a topic where an anecdote just readily sprang to my mind. But with that topic, it kind of felt like I had been given a second chance and I felt like I would’ve regretted it if I hadn’t taken a risk.”

“You did well.”

Isak looks at him, gives Even the most infinitesimal smile. “Yeah?”

Even nods in response and briefly knocks his own knee against Isak’s. Isak looks bashful, but Even’s not sure if he’s just reading into it because he wants to see that look on Isak’s face, want to be the reason for it. 

“Can I ask you something now?” Isak asks, tentative.

“Sure.”

“Why didn’t you win?”

Even laughs. “Rude.”

Isak shakes his head, backtracks. “No, I mean, you’re, you know. You.”

Even cocks his head to the side, amused. “What does that mean?”

Isak rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

“Bullshit. You’re just trying to fish for compliments.”

“Oh, is that what you were gonna do? Were you gonna compliment me?” Even puts a hand on his chest and pretends to look around. “You sure? Me?”

Isak kicks him underneath the table, and Even stupidly, instinctively uses it to hook his ankle around Isak’s. Isak looks shocked and Even can’t breathe.

He’s stupid. So fucking stupid. First Mikael, now Isak. Nissen was supposed to be a fresh start, for fuck’s sake. He can’t deteriorate again, not because of some boy who, regardless of what his sexuality is, doesn’t even like Even. At all.

“I—uh, I forgot what I was gonna say.” Isak’s voice cuts through his downward spiral, and it takes Even a moment to realize that Isak hasn’t tried to move his leg. Isak’s looking down at his burger like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world, but he hasn’t moved his leg and Even’s sure he’s not imagining that Isak’s face looks redder. He supposes his is, too.

“I forgot what you were saying, too,” Even mutters.

As they eat their burgers, neither of them hasten to move their legs, and Even almost feels a pang of regret when he has to get up and throw away the wrappers. When they leave, there’s no reason to touch, no excuse, and when Isak gets his clothes from Even’s place and tells Even he’ll take the tram back since one of his roomates’ boyfriend has left, Even feels stupid all over again.

* * *

“We’re going to be splitting up into teams for Bergen, so this is how it’s going to go—”

“What?” Isak interrupts.

“Teams, Isak,” Miss Berg says, impatient. 

“Why are we being split into teams? That’s not how nationals work.”

“They’ve changed the rules this year because more people have qualified than before,” Miss Berg explains. “To accommodate everyone, you’re going to be in teams.”

“Can we pick our own teams?” Emma asks, casting a look in Isak’s direction that’s not even remotely subtle. He fervently hopes to a god he doesn’t believe in that he’s not in a team with Emma. If that prayer goes answered, Isak will consider becoming religious.

“Good question. No. Does anyone else want to interrupt me?”

Vilde looks like she’s considering it, but Miss Berg speaks before Vilde has a chance to say anything. “OK, teams. Vilde and Emma, Anders and Lukas, Isak and Even. Convenient since each team can share a hotel room, as well.”

Isak glances over at Even, feels something strange form in the pit of his stomach at the prospect of being teamed up with Even, of sharing a room with him—and it’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling.

“Why can’t we pick our own teams?” Even asks, and that, that’s more than enough reason to warrant the unpleasant feeling.

Isak doesn’t feel crushed, but he feels—well, in a manner of speaking, rejected.

“Because I said so.” Miss Berg gives Even her famous don’t-test-me smile.

“But we don’t work that well together. Completely different methods.”

“So, you’ll learn to work together.”

“We won’t.” Isak surprises himself by speaking, but he has to say something. He’s not going to shut up and let everyone be witness to Even openly refusing to be his partner.

“You. Will. Learn.”

“You’re jeopardizing our chances of winning nationals,” Isak reminds.

Miss Berg smiles. “I get my weekend in Bergen. At this point, you’re the only ones who have anything to lose.”

“But we really don’t work well together,” Even insists, and Isak’s past the point of feeling annoyed. He’s angry.

Where the fuck was Even’s crap even coming from? Even, who had lent him clothes, let him crash on his couch, and bought him McDonald’s was now treating Isak like a carton of week-old milk.

“And I really don’t want to hear anymore about this,” Miss Berg warns.

Isak waits—waits for Miss Berg and the others to leave so he can corner Even, but Even’s the first one to gather his things and leave. While Emma and Vilde and Anders and Lukas make plans and study strategies, Isak’s fucking teammate leaves. Without a word to him. So, he follows. 

Isak sprints down the hallway to catch up with Even and tries to stop him by tugging at his backpack.

“What the living fuck was that?” Isak demands.

“What was what?” Even looks so indifferent that it hurts as much as it enrages Isak.

“You know what.”

“And you know we don’t work well together.”

“OK, genius, doesn't change the fact that we're still stuck together now. What do you suggest we do?”

Even shrugs. “Don’t know.”

“I’m not losing at the nationals.”

“Cool, I hope you don’t.”

Isak lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re so fucking frustrating.”

The corners of Even’s mouth twitch, but he doesn’t look playful. “Figured you might say that.” With that, Even walks away and Isak’s never wanted to kill another person more.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will this actually be five chapters? i'm not sure anymore but i'm thinking no more than 7 for now :)


	4. never had no one ever

“Stop, stop, what’s happening right now?”

Miss Berg gestures between Even and Isak, who’s glaring daggers at Even, but he just shrugs in response to Miss Berg.

“We tried to tell you we don’t work well together,” Isak says.

Isak’s been hostile, and Even can’t blame him. Being around them must be annoying; he knows this for a fact because Anders and Lukas leave as soon as Berg does, opting to study and practice someplace far away from both Isak and Even. Vilde, on the other hand, looks like she regrets not following Anders and Lukas, but Emma’s thrilled for the chance to be semi-alone with Isak, whose mood, almost impossibly, becomes sourer every time she flirts with him.

The stupid part of Even feels satisfied when Isak doesn’t indulge her.

“You two, follow me,” Miss Berg says. “The rest of you, stay here and start preparing for the next topic.”

“But you haven’t given us the topic,” Vilde points out.

“So, pick a topic. You all know how to use your phones." 

Even tries to exchange a glance with Isak as they follow Miss Berg down the hallway, but Isak’s steadfastly avoiding his gaze and has been avoiding looking at Even for a few days now. Miss Berg leads them into an empty classroom, and crosses her arms across her chest.

“Now, what’s going on here?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Isak says, defensive.

“Yeah, we just don’t—” Even starts to say, but Miss Berg cuts him off.

“For heaven’s sake, do not tell me you don’t work well together. You’re two of the best debaters I’ve seen in a few years despite how differently you debate, but you’ve been equally terrible for the past few days. No coordination, no finesse, nothing. You either reiterate the same points or contradict what the other has said. It's like watching chimps try to debate. Do you even talk to each other? Have you been working together, practicing?”

Isak and Even remain guiltily silent.

Miss Berg shakes her head. “How do you expect to be teammates if you don’t work together?”

“Technically, we didn’t choose this,” Isak grumbles.

“Good, because this time, I’m not giving you the choice.”

“What do you mean?” Even asks warily, and this time when he looks over at Isak, Isak’s looking at him, too.

“For the next thirty minutes, you two are going to stay here and work together. And I’m going to lock the door, so don’t get any ideas about leaving.”

“Can you do that?” Even asks, doubtful.

“Yeah, how are we supposed to—” Isak starts, but Miss Berg’s already out the door.

“See you in thirty minutes.” Staying true to her word, she locks the door behind them when she leaves.

“I was going to ask how we’re supposed to work without our laptops,” Isak mutters, then glares at Even like he’s at fault. He supposes he is.

Even shrugs, then sits on one of the chairs, while Isak hovers nearby. “Are you going to stand for thirty minutes?”

“Are you going to be a dick for thirty minutes?” Isak counters.

Even sighs. “No.”

“Why, did you get a personality transplant?”

Even looks at Isak for a few seconds, tries not to be amused—not just because of Isak’s words, but because he looks so endearingly miffed. He fails. “That’s not a thing,” he says faintly.

“I guess you would know,” Isak mumbles, then picks at his jeans.

He’s wearing a white sweater with a beanie and a scarf, and it’s different from the image of Isak in Even’s mind, but it occurs to him that he’s at Nissen now, that he sees Isak every day, that the image of Isak he’s used to will always keep changing, and it’s something of a blessing. He’s not really the disinterested debate opponent Even remembers from his days at Bakka anymore. Isak looks warm and soft and nothing at all like a physical representation of the demeanor he exudes.

But he’s also not just one or the other, Even thinks. He’s grumpy and soft, snarky and sweet, warm and cold, and—oh.

The realization hits him harder than he expects.

“What?” Isak asks, narrowing his eyes.

He hadn’t actually thought—

“Even, what the fuck?”

And then, Isak’s actually in front of him, looking wary and concerned, and Even gets it. He’s more than just a little physically attracted to Isak. He feels like an abashed, horny 12-year-old caught in the middle of his first wet dream.

“Nothing, just have a stomach ache.”

Isak looks like he doesn’t quite believe him, but he sits on one of the chairs and pulls out his phone.

“How many minutes has it been?” Even asks, breaking the silence.

“Three.” Isak sighs.

* * *

Isak cracks at the nine-minute mark.

“What’s your deal? With me?”

Even looks a little alarmed; Isak’s surprised with himself, too. But he wants to know—needs to know—why it felt like a switch had been turned off just two days after they practically spent a whole night together. Not _together_ together, but they had spent several hours in each other’s company and those hours had been fine. Good, even.

Isak learned he liked arguing with Even, even when they weren’t in an official debate setting. He liked the easy banter, liked how good Even was at keeping up with him, liked that Even kept him on his toes. And he’s not stupid; he’s not falling for the straight guy with a girlfriend (granted, everything about Even does negate any shred of doubt Isak may have had about his own sexuality—he is almost certainly gay). He had just thought, for the briefest of moments, that maybe they could be something like friends. It was stupid.

“What do you mean what’s my deal with you?” Even asks, guarded.

Isak can’t help but roll his eyes. Even can’t be this dense. “I mean, why don’t you want to be my teammate? And don’t say it’s because we don’t work well together. We could work well together and you know that as damn well as I do.”

“You think we could work well together?”

“Well—yeah.” Isak realizes it’s true; he actually believes it.

“What, you’ve changed your mind about whose debating style is better?” Even sounds skeptical.

“Well, no.”

Even raises his eyebrows, and Isak gets up from his spot, a few safe seats away from Even, to sit in the chair right in front of him.

“We’ve tied at several competitions, right? And we did that with two completely different debating styles, which means that one isn’t necessarily better than the other. It means that, as a team, we could set ourselves apart from the others. You could do your thing, I could do mine, and it would be doubly effective because we’ve got facts and the actual impact,” Isak says. To his own ears, he sounds excited. “Like those data stories. I talk about the numbers and you put them in perspective; you tell them what it means and why it matters.”

He had thought about it a lot since he’d won the regionals. There’s no way Isak alone could effectively combine both; he’s perceptive enough about his own shortcomings to recognize that he’s not as good a storyteller as Even.

The regionals had been a fluke—he’d had a story and he was lucky enough to be assigned to the side where his story was applicable. Had he been asked to argue the negative, there’s no doubt in his mind that he would’ve retreated to using the tactics he knew.

Even doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Isak deflates. Clearly, Even really doesn’t give a shit. But then, a smile spreads across his face. “Never thought I would’ve lived to see the day when Isak Valtersen wanted to work with me.”

Isak rolls his eyes, but smiles back. “I don’t want to work with you. We’re stuck working together. Big difference.”

“But you want to try and make this work,” Even says.

“I want to win.”

“Is that the only reason?”

Isak’s not sure what Even’s implying, but he shrugs. “Us being at each other’s throats is pissing everyone else off, so I guess we're doing humanity a favor, as well.”

“All of humanity?”

There’s that look on Even’s face again; his head is tilted, he looks amused, he’s smirking, he’s cocky, he’s beautiful. How had Isak not realized before, when they spent several months going up against each other, that Even had the ability to obliterate him by doing nothing other than smiling at him? He supposes it’s a good thing; had he noticed then, he doubts their competitions would’ve ended in a tie. Even would’ve won.

“All of humanity,” Isak agrees.

* * *

Isak’s not hostile anymore, but Even can’t tell if he’s being friendly, either. He’s cordial, he’s guarded, and Even suspects Isak’s keeping his distance, which works well enough for him.

They spend several late nights together, spread out on Even’s floor or bed, working through topics, making up for the time they’d spent ignoring and being dicks to each other, and it’s easy for him to imagine scenarios that end the same way.

Scenario #1: He offers to split a joint with Isak. They get loose-lipped, talk about nothing and everything, and maybe—maybe there’ll be a moment where Isak might kiss him.

Scenario #2: They fall asleep, they wake up, and maybe, there’ll be a moment where Isak kisses him in the morning haze.

Scenario #3: They tire of practicing and researching and raid the beers in Even’s fridge. And well, under the influence of alcohol, Even supposes it doesn’t matter who kisses whom, but he still imagines Isak kisses him.

Because he can’t will himself to initiate a friendship, let alone anything more. Not again. Not after what happened with Mikael.

But even the idea of Isak initiating anything scares him a little, so he doesn’t give the scenarios in his head a chance to actually come true—he steers clear of offering Isak a joint or a beer and when it’s past midnight, Even tells Isak he’s tired so he’ll leave.

And it’s fine. It works.

Only, that night, Isak groans and rolls over on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“What if we don’t win?”

Even doesn’t care about winning. He cares about this—utilizing whatever excuse he has to spend some time with Isak.

“Does it matter?” Even finally asks.

Isak rolls over on his stomach so he can look at Even. “Doesn’t it matter to you?” he asks, curious.

Even shrugs. “Not really.”

“Why not?”

Even shrugs again. There are a lot of reasons why Even stopped caring about winning. He’s only in debate now because it reignites a small spark of thrill, a facsimile of the actual thrill he used to feel when he was the reigning champion at Bakka. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“But you’re co-captain,” Isak says. “Aren’t you supposed to care?”

“Do you?”

“A little.”

“Why?”

“Why only a little or why care at all?” Isak asks, confused.

“Both, I guess.”

“Because I’m kind of used to winning,” Isak says slowly. “Either by myself or with Sana. And I care now because we’re trying something new and I—I—”

“Don’t want it to crash and burn?” Even guesses.

Isak replies with a nod. “Do you think we’ll win?”

“I don’t know,” Even says honestly. “But I think we’ve tried.”

“Yeah. I guess we have.” The answering smile on Isak’s face is soft and tired and kissable.

Even thinks then that he might not just be physically attracted to Isak. He might have a crush on Isak. And it doesn’t help matters that Isak’s looking at Even, his chin tilted up a little, like he’s dangerously hoping for something, anything. But Even’s not sure if he’s imagining it, the way he did with Mikael.

Because Mikael had done this—he had lain on the very bed Isak was lying on now. Even and Mikael had been high and drunk and consequently cross-faded and Even was positive Mikael had tilted his chin up at him the way Isak was doing now. Only, then, Even had bitten the bullet. He had actually leaned in and kissed Mikael and didn't realize he had misread the situation until it was too late, when Mikael’s hand was firmly on Even’s chest and pushing back, when Mikael had looked at him with wide eyes, like Even had uprooted his entire life. Even had.

“It’s getting pretty late,” Even forces himself to say.

Something flickers across Isak’s face. It’s unidentifiable, but Even’s doesn’t want to put a name on it because if he did, he would have to call it ‘hurt’ or ‘disappointment’ and he’s positive he’s imagining it because that’s what his mind wants. To sabotage him all over again.

Isak’s cheeks are flushed when he starts gathering his things together and mutters a “yeah” in agreement even though it’s barely 21:30. He leaves and Even makes no attempt to stop him.

* * *

“You OK?”

Isak snaps out of his Even-centric reverie when Jonas’ question cuts through.

“Hmm? Yeah. Why?”

Jonas laughs a little. “Because I’m crushing you in FIFA right now. And it’s not like you’re always bad or anything, but you’re better than this.”

Isak laughs, too, mostly to put Jonas’ concern to rest. “Just tired, I guess.”

But Jonas knows him better than to believe the blatant lie. Only, he doesn’t call Isak out on it. Doesn’t press him in that annoying way people do that makes Isak shut down even more.

Instead, he starts a new game and talks about Magnus’ failed attempt to hook up with Vilde. Isak loves Jonas, has loved him ever since they met in Grefsen, but Isak doesn’t think he’s ever been more thankful for him than he is at that moment.

“—she was fucking traumatized; you should’ve seen her face. I swear, Mahdi and I thought he only had, like, four beers, maybe five, but fuck, man, you should’ve been there. He goes up to try and talk to her and just starts projectile vomiting. Gross as shit. I don't know if he even had more or if he's just that bad at holding his liquor.”

Jonas laughs, and Isak half-heartedly laughs along.

He doesn’t mean for the words to come out when they do, doesn’t mean for it to happen like this, but it does.

“Felt like projectile vomiting the other day,” Isak mutters. “When I was preparing for nationals with Even.”

He can hear the waver in his own voice, and he supposes that’s why Jonas looks more curious and concerned than amused. “Is it not going well? Working with him? I thought it was getting better.”

“It has. A little.”

Jonas doesn’t say anything, just waits. And that’s good because Isak needs all the time he can get.

Finally, he runs a hand through his hair. Avoids looking at Jonas. Squirms on the couch. Feels like there’s lead in his heart. But it’s time. He wants to tell someone and can’t think of telling anyone other than Jonas. “I think—I wanted him to kiss me. The last time we were practicing. And I think he knew.” He spits the words out in one breath, and when he chances a glance at Jonas, his best friend doesn’t look shocked. Just confused. That makes Isak wonder if Jonas even understood what he said.

Before he can consider repeating the words again, Jonas speaks. “What do you mean he knew? Knew what? That you wanted him to kiss you?”

Isak doesn’t respond for a moment, but then he nods, his heart clenching.

“He didn’t want to kiss you?” Jonas asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Is he acting weird? Scared? Giving you crap for it? Because that means he’s a fucking homophobe and I’ll help you kick his ass.”

Isak laughs, surprised. He doesn’t know what he expected, but he doesn’t expect Jonas to not even blink at Isak’s admission. Which, maybe means… “Did you know?” Isak asks.

“What?”

“That I—you know, like guys.” Isak wishes he didn’t sound so blatantly ashamed, apologetic even.

“Honestly? No.”

Isak raises his eyebrows and Jonas laughs, gives him a light punch on the arm. “Seriously, how the fuck was I supposed to know? You hook up with girls every weekend. Besides, just because you like guys doesn’t mean you don’t like girls, too, because sexuality is completely fluid. So I’m not making any assumptions here.”

The words strike a strange chord in Isak’s heart.

_Just because you like guys doesn’t mean you don’t like girls, too, because sexuality is completely fluid._

“You don’t have to, like, label yourself or put yourself in any category if you think it’s not right for you,” Jonas continues.

“What if I want to?” Isak asks, cautious, hesitant. “What if I think ‘gay’ sounds right for me?”

“Then it’s chill.” Jonas smiles at him. “All I meant was that you don’t have to try to put yourself in a box just because other people want you to or expect you to.”

Isak nods and thinks that as far as best friends go, he’s won the fucking lottery.

“So, Even, huh?” Jonas asks after a few seconds. “Thought you hated him.”

“Thought I hated him, too.”

“He’s very handsome.”

Isak gapes at Jonas. “What the fuck?”

“What?” Jonas returns, defensive. “He is.”

Isak laughs in disbelief, but his chest feels infinitely lighter, and he realizes he had been wrong. Isak’s most thankful for Jonas every goddamn minute of his life.

* * *

All in all, Even’s not having the best day of his life, but it’s good all the same.

He visits Sonja because they haven’t actually spent any time together in longer than Even can remember. All the while, though, he’s distracted and it’s clear she is, too. They’re both in the same room, acting like they’re 10,000 kilometers away from each other, and Even thinks now is as good a time as any.

Only, Sonja beats him to the chase.

“I’m sorry, I think we should break up.”

She’s already in tears, and Even can’t do much more than stare at her, frozen, because he had been working up the nerve to say those exact words.

“I know, I’m a terrible person, but this is killing me, Even,” Sonja says, sounding broken. “We’ve been growing apart for months and I didn’t want to be a bitch and break up with you when I knew you needed me and I will always be there for you, anytime you need me, but I can’t do this. I want to go on dates, I want someone to give me their undivided attention and time, and—and I know I’m being selfish right now and I’m so fucking sorry.”

Even almost wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. Instead, his heart just feels full and empty at the same time. He had been too self-absorbed to realize just how much he was affecting Sonja by stringing her along, by forcing her to stay by his side instead of letting her go, and yet, here she is, crying like it’s her own fault than Even’s. Even’s by her side in an instant, holding her tight and kissing her face with the kind of genuine affection that he hasn’t felt in a while. He hasn’t so much as touched her in weeks.

“You’re not a terrible person,” he mutters, pressing a kiss into her hair.

She smells like she always does, like citrus and spice, but it doesn’t drive Even insane the way it did when he was fifteen. It just settles something in his chest.

But she shakes her head, like she’s trying to protest Even’s words, and Even holds her tighter.

“I promise you’re not. I know this isn’t the most consoling thing to say, but I’ve been thinking about ending things, too. But you beat me to the chase, so you know what that means? You get to tell all our friends that you dumped my ass.”

Sonja lets out a surprised laugh, then pulls back a little to give Even a watery smile. “You were the first person I fell in love with.”

“And you were the first person I fell in love with,” Even returns, pressing another kiss to her cheek.

“I still love you. Will always love you.” Sonja pulls a face. “But, you know, not like that. Just—if you need me, no matter what, I want you to call me.”

“I will.” Even doesn’t know if it’s a promise he’ll keep, but he thinks it could be. Sonja’s the only real friend he has left who’s seen him through all his ups and downs. “So, is there someone else?”

Sonja looks bashful and Even laughs, gives her hair a playful tug. “It’s OK if there is. I think there’s someone for me, too.”

Sonja looks curious, but then she sighs, and a small, genuine smile spreads across her face. “It’s Alfred. He works at the store with me. I—we haven’t done anything, I haven’t been cheating on you. I just—I thought it would be best to end things before I pursued anything new. I’m sorry.”

Even laughs, then moves to sit on the couch. “You don’t have to be sorry. I promise.”

Sonja looks doubtful, but she nods. “So. Who’s your girl?”

Even flinches a little at her question. “It’s not,” he admits after a few seconds. “It’s Isak.”

“Isak?” Sonja wrinkles her nose, looks confused, then her mouth hangs open, resembling a perfect 'o.' “Valtersen? You have a crush on Isak Valtersen? The debate nerd?”

Even gives her knee a little nudge. “You were a debate nerd not too long ago,” he reminds.

“Fair,” Sonja concedes. “Isak Valtersen.” She sounds awed. “Does he like you back? Is he gay? Bi? Something else?”

Even shrugs. He really doesn’t know.

“Even.” Sonja’s tone softens, and Even thinks he has an idea of where her mind has wandered. “You know it’s not going to be like Mikael every time you like a guy, don’t you?”

Even nods without feeling.

“Even,” she repeats. “It’s not. Just because Mikael didn’t feel that way about you doesn’t mean no guy is going to like you back.”

“It also doesn’t mean Isak’s going to like me back,” Even points out.

“Maybe not, but you don’t know until you know. You should talk to him, you know.”

“Isak?”

Sonja shakes her head. Then, after a moment’s deliberation, nods before shaking her head again. “Him, too. But I was talking about Mikael. You only think he hates you. He doesn’t. Not even a little. He mi—”

“—I get it,” Even interrupts. He doesn’t want to hear Sonja say that Mikael misses him, too. He really doesn’t. “But I have to do some grocery shopping, so call me later, yeah? We’ll have a pregame before I leave for Bergen. You can invite Alfred.”

Even winks, and the mention of Alfred’s name has the desired effect on Sonja. She blushes.

* * *

It’s a seven-hour train ride, and Isak’s stuck sitting next to Emma, which wasn’t how it was supposed to go down.

He was one of the first to find a seat, and he’d caught Even’s eye when he’d boarded the train, but Emma had yelled out an excited “Hi, Isak!” and occupied the seat next to him. Even gives him a tight-lipped smile, shoves his headphones in his ears, and sits a few rows down from him, facing Isak.

Isak can’t help but dart not-so-surreptitious glances Even’s way, but it’s been almost two hours, and Emma hasn’t stopped talking. They’d covered movies, music, books, everything imaginable in the world, and now she’s somehow back on the topic of how uncomfortable bras are and Isak can’t help it.

“Emma, I’m gay,” he snaps.

“You are?” It’s Vilde, who’s sitting across from him and Emma, and she looks positively enthralled. Isak realizes then that coming out in a train from Oslo to Bergen was probably not the smartest idea he’s had in his life. “Isak, that’s so cool. Do the boys know?”

“I—” Yep, definitely a choice he regrets, but he’s sure he doesn’t imagine that Emma isn’t pressed as closely to him as she had been, and he supposes that’s something of a relief. “Just Jonas,” he finally says, because he doesn’t want word to get around to Mahdi and Magnus before he has a chance to tell them himself. “So please, for the love of god, don’t tell anyone else.”

This needs to be on his own terms; he deserves that much for all the shit he’s had to hear from his mamma about what the Bible says about homosexuality. 

“Of course I won’t.” Vilde looks offended by Isak’s mere implication that she might tell someone. “This is your thing and yours alone. No one should know until you decide they should know,” she says pointedly. And then, Vilde’s glaring and Isak feels confused until he realizes that she’s not glaring at him.

She’s glaring at Emma.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Emma mutters. “Um, I’m going to find Anders.”

“You do that,” Vilde says sweetly.

For the first time in his life, Isak realizes he’s fucking thankful for Vilde.

As soon as Emma leaves, Vilde takes the seat next to him. “I’m not doing this as a favor or anything, because I really do believe you should get to decide when you tell people,” she says.  

“Uh, OK?” Vilde confuses Isak.

“But I know what you did for me.” When Isak just looks puzzled, she averts her gaze but continues. “I know you know about my mamma. I know Sara told you and I know you didn’t tell anyone. So—thank you. I'm not doing this as a favor, but it is the reason why I understand how important it is to have the right to hold on to some things, especially personal things. Not that your sexuality is anything to hold on to,” Vilde hastens to add. “Because it’s nothing to be ashamed of. And I hope no one thinks any differently of you because if they do, they’re assholes.”

In that moment, Vilde reminds Isak of Jonas and the strange comparison almost makes him laugh.

“And, even if it takes years, I hope it’s something you’re proud of one day, Isak,” Vilde says, so genuine that Isak feels like his throat has clogged up. Maybe coming out in a train hadn’t been the worst decision he’s made. But he just nods, unsure of what to say, and he’s relieved that Vilde seems satisfied with that.

“Are you and Even having a thing?” Vilde asks abruptly, three hours into their journey.

“What?” Isak almost chokes out the sip of water he had taken. He looks at Even, but his eyes are closed and his headphones are still on. “Why the fuck would you think that?” Isak hisses at Vilde.

Vilde looks a little alarmed and glances over at Even, too, before looking at Isak. “I’m sorry if it’s not true. I just thought—”

“What?” Isak cuts, sharp. “That he’s a good-looking guy so I would obviously be into him because I'm gay?”

“No! Of course not.” Vilde looks affronted. “Just that I’ve only ever really seen him talk to you.”

“What are you talking about? He has a lot of friends.”

“Does he?” Vilde asks doubtfully.

And now that Vilde mentions it, now that Isak thinks about it, he’s not sure Even does. He knows Even has a girlfriend, but they spent most of their time practicing at his place and Even had never mentioned having plans with someone else. Even Isak had occasionally mentioned having plans with the boys. But Even—Even was always flexible, down for any time, any day, whatever fit Isak’s schedule best.

“I’m sorry,” Vilde says again. “I really did think—with the way he looks at you sometimes—that maybe you’re toge—”

“We’re not,” Isak interrupts again. Vilde says something, but his mind is still reeling from the newfound realization that Even might be _lonely_.

“—you are handsome, though.”

And, wait, what?

“The fuck?”

“You are,” Vilde says. “If he was into guys, he would be crazy not to at least want to have sex with you, Isak.”

Isak doesn’t even manage to suppress a groan. This is, hands down, the weirdest train ride of his life.

* * *

As soon as Miss Berg hands out the hotel room keys, everyone splits up. Vilde and Emma are on the third floor, Anders and Lukas are on the fourth floor, and Isak and Even ride the elevator all the way up to the tenth floor in complete silence.

It’s unnerving.

And maybe, it’s the desire to ease the tension between them that prompts him to take out of his credit card and flash it in front of Isak’s face.

“In the mood for some drinks?”

It’s a shot in the dark; Even’s not even sure if Isak will go for it. They’re supposed to debate tomorrow, even if their competition isn't until the afternoon. Maybe Isak wants to turn in early or practice or—

“Hell yeah.” Isak’s grinning at him, and Even feels like he wants to stop second-guessing everything in the world.

There are beers in the hotel lobby, but Even grabs Isak’s hand, ignores the jolt that goes through his body at the touch, and drags him toward the bar.

“What the fuck, Even? I’m not 18,” Isak hisses.

“Trust me.”

Even doesn’t know where the surge of confidence is coming from. Maybe it’s because he had been forced to see Emma talk up Isak for most the train ride. Maybe it’s because he’s feeling a little brave after his conversation with Sonja. Maybe it’s because Isak follows him. It’s that, he thinks, it’s definitely the latter.

* * *

Isak feels nervous, but at the same time, he does. He does trust Even. So, he follows.

“What can I get you?” a bartender asks as soon as they seat themselves.

“Two beers, please.”

“Are you both 18?”

“I am.” Even gives the woman his most charming smile.

Isak feels his jaw drop. Jesus Christ, had Even actually set him up? But then, Even’s arm is around his shoulders, pulling Isak closer and it doesn’t really give Isak a chance to close his mouth. What the fuck was happening?

“He’s going to turn 18 at midnight. I know we’re a little early.” Even actually sounds regretful. “But could you make an exception? I just want to celebrate my boyfriend's birthday with him.”

Isak idly wonders if Even’s already drunk. But he can’t be. They haven’t had the chance to do anything between getting from the train station to the hotel. So, this is just Even. Pretending Isak’s his boyfriend. So they can drink beers. Fucking great.

“OK.” The bartender smiles after a moment and goes to fetch their drinks. Even turns to grin at him. “The one at midnight’s free.”

Even’s grin becomes impossibly wider, and Isak shakes his head as he starts to down his beer.

“What?” Even nudges Isak’s shoulder with his own.

“You’re just—you’re—” he trails off.

“I’m what?” Even’s voice is soft, not cocky, the way it usually is when Isak can’t gather his thoughts fast enough around him.

“Something else,” Isak finishes.

The grin he gets in response is blinding and beautiful and makes him feel like he won’t ever be as enamored with anyone as he is with Even.

* * *

Even’s drunk and he thinks Isak is, too, because he’s singing along to Jason Mraz in the bar and it’s cute and sweet and everything Even sees himself falling in love with. After they drain the last of their beers, Even grabs Isak’s hand again and drags him out of the bar.

To his surprise, Isak doesn’t protest, doesn’t even question it.

“There are a lot of floors.” Isak hiccups in the elevator and Even laughs.

It’s so fucking endearing; he doesn’t think he’s found someone this endearing before, let alone a hiccuping someone. But it’s not just a hiccuping anyone—it’s Isak Valtersen and Even notices that he’s wearing a snapback that Even’s never seen before, that his cheeks are flushed, that he somehow looks like a fucking dream in a burgundy sweatshirt thrown over a white T-shirt.

He doesn’t know who initiates it, but he knows Isak’s snapback falls on the floor of the elevator and they’re touching, clutching, kissing. Even wants more, Even wants everything. He wants to be close to Isak, closer than it’s physically possible because he’s not sure that’ll even be enough. He feels Isak try to shrug him out of his hoodie and the elevator dings and they both spring apart, breathing heavily as an old couple looks at them, wide-eyed.

Tenth floor.

This time, it’s Isak who grabs Even’s hand and leads him out of the elevator.

“Kids,” Even thinks he hears the old man mutter.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at this point, this is just loosely inspired by candy jar lol 
> 
> but i've never written this much fluff in my life before so this just means whatever i write next will be a little extra angsty ;) 
> 
> anyway i don't think this will be more than five chapters; i'm just thinking the next one will be the longest one to include everything i want as i wrap this up


	5. the boy with the thorn in his side

Isak can’t stop kissing Even, not even long enough to get to their rooms, and it thrills him that Even can’t stop kissing him, either.

It briefly registers in his mind that he should ask Even about his girlfriend. As it is, Isak’s a piece of shit most of the time, and he doesn’t need anymore incentive to feel like one. But the small Sonja-shaped thought bubble in Isak’s mind bursts the second he feels Even’s tongue on his bottom lip.

Even’s back hits a door and Isak’s vaguely aware of him kissing Isak and simultaneously trying to swipe their room key, only to be rejected over and over again.

“Fuck.” Even laughs and tries again, while Isak trails kisses along his jaw. “Doors suck.”

“Doors suck,” Isak agrees and pulls back a little. “But this isn’t our room.”

“What? You didn’t think to tell me _before_ I tried to break into a stranger’s room?”

“You didn’t think of the possibility that you got the wrong room when you couldn’t unlock it the first five times?” Isak returns, but he’s grinning, Even’s grinning, and he doesn’t want to be in the hallway anymore.

They stop kissing long enough to find their own room, but before the door closes behind them, Even’s lips are on Isak’s again. He’s drunk, but he’s not hammered, and he feels the reality of what they’re doing weigh down on him when his back hits the bed and Even’s on top of him.

“Wait, wait.” He puts his hand on Even’s chest and sits up. For some reason, Even looks nervous. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” Even says with a small smile, but Isak notices he still looks nervous.

“Not that drunk.”

“Me neither.”

Isak bites his lip. “But you’re drunk enough to pretend like you don’t have a girlfriend and do this with me instead?”

Isak doesn’t expect Even’s reaction. He looks genuinely confused and then, as if remembering something—the fact that he has a girlfriend, probably—Even laughs and shakes his head. “We broke up a week ago.”

Oh.

Relief practically floods Isak’s body. Only, a week isn’t a long time. “Are you sad?”

Even tilts his head to the side, questioning, but he pushes Isak down gently so he’s lying on his back again.

“Like, is this a sad thing?” Isak asks, gesturing between him and Even, but it’s practically ineffective because Even’s kissing down his throat. “You’re sad about your break up, so you got drunk and now you’re here with me and—”

Even kisses him, and the words die on Isak’s lips.

“I’m not sad,” Even says, his hands cupping Isak’s face. There’s so much adoration in his eyes that Isak can’t really believe that it could all be directed at him. “We broke up because we’ve been growing apart for months. And because I’ve really wanted to do this for a while now.” He kisses Isak again, slower and more deliberate. “What do you think about that?”

It’s a ridiculous question because Even’s sucking on Isak’s neck and Isak feels like he’s lost his capacity to think. He’s no stranger to kissing; he’s done this with more girls than he can count, but he had felt nothing. No thrill, no spark, no semblance of enjoyment. With Even, he feels like he’s at the top of a rollercoaster, anticipating the free fall.

“I think it’s cool,” he finally says.

“Cool,” Even repeats with a smile.

And then it’s easy. It’s easy for him to lose himself in Even, to get rid of the clothes they’re wearing without any qualms, to practically stop breathing entirely when Even gets between his legs and blows him. It’s not his first blowjob, but it’s the only one he actually wants to stay in the moment for, the one that makes him come embarrassingly fast. Even’s lips are shining and swollen and Isak wants so much and everything else with him that it almost hurts. But for the time being, he just pushes Even to lie on his back, kisses his way down Even’s body, and leaves marks that he selfishly hopes Even has a tough time hiding.

* * *

“You’re hungry.”

“Am not.”

The rumble coming from Isak’s stomach betrays his words, and Even pokes Isak’s stomach.

“That’s telling a different story,” Even says.

Isak squirms and slaps Even’s hand away, but wraps an arm around him and continues to cling to him. Even’s heart aches a little. He hasn’t had this, anything like the two hours he’d had, with anyone. Maybe he’s jumping the gun, maybe it’s all in his head, but Isak feels like something else.

“Don’t want to leave,” Isak mumbles, pressing his face into Even’s bare shoulder.

“We don’t have to.” Even runs his fingers through Isak’s hair. “Room service.”

“Yeah, right.”

“What?”

Even follows suit when Isak sits up a little and looks incredulous.

“What?” he repeats. “Miss Berg, that’s what. She’s going to kill us if we blow our budget on room service.”

Even lifts an eyebrow, amused. “I’m not going to use our budget for room service. Got a credit card in perfectly good working condition.”

Isak looks a little uneasy. “Still expensive.”

“It’s on me.” Even shrugs, reaches for the phone.

* * *

They sit on the floor, blankets covering their bodies because they’re too lazy to find their clothes (and because Isak hopes there’ll be a round two of everything that happened earlier). The only physical evidence of the mini burgers they've devoured is the few pieces of stray lettuce and the onions Isak had picked out. That, and the sauce that somehow ended up on Even’s cheek.

Isak laughs a little, motions for Even to come closer and wipes off the sauce with his hand. Even leans into his touch, and Isak feels warm. Safe. Good.

He had never understood the hype of dating someone, of wanting to be with one person exclusively, fall in love with them, do the most mundane things in the world with them. With Jonas and Eva, he had practically been a secondhand participant in their relationship for a while, with how often he tried to consciously cockblock them. He had witnessed some of what it meant to be in a loving relationship through Jonas and Eva. There were stupid fights, cooking each other dinner, acting like no one else existed beyond the two of them. There was grocery shopping and brushing their teeth together and postponing plans with the rest of the world when they wanted to spend a day in bed together, doing nothing, but being everything to each other.

Isak hadn’t understood it then, not even a little. Now, looking at Even, he thinks he understands it. Thinks he’s starting to yearn for all of that with Even.

They lie on one of the twin beds together, and Isak feels sleepy the longer Even continues to play with his hair. But he fights the urge to sleep. He doesn’t know if this is a one-and-done. Doesn’t want to risk falling asleep for the few hours he gets to have with Even in case he’s wrong.

* * *

“What are you thinking?” Isak’s voice is quiet, sleepy.

His eyes are half-lidded, and Even thinks he probably should be sleeping, but Isak rubs his eyes, as if he’s forcing himself to stay awake. Even doesn’t think anyone’s enjoyed his company enough to stave off sleep just to know what’s on Even’s mind.

“Mostly you,” Even admits after a few seconds.

The answering smile on Isak’s face is so shy and soft and unlike anything Even could’ve imagined seeing on Isak less than a month ago. “What about me?”

And that’s the question Even doesn’t know how to answer. Because there are a lot of things on his mind, but the biggest thing, the one that’s weighing him down like there’s a block of iron tied around his neck, is that he doesn’t know how good he would ultimately be for Isak. He thinks back to the conversation he’d had with Sonja at the pregame before he left for Bergen.

_“A hotel room with Isak, huh?” Sonja waggled her eyebrows and Even laughed._

_“Nothing’s going to happen.”_

_“It’s impossible for anyone to spend time with someone they like in the same hotel room and not have anything happen, Even. Something could happen. Something even minutely significant.”_

_Even gave her an unimpressed look. “Maybe I don’t want anything to happen.”_

_“But you like him.” Sonja looked confused. “Don’t you?”_

_Even sighed; somehow, he hadn’t expected Sonja to take the news about him liking someone else this well. Although, he supposes it makes sense_ — _he would’ve had the same conversation with her about Alfred if their roles had been reversed. “I do.”_

 _“So, why wouldn’t you want anything to happen? That doesn’t make any_ — _oh.”_

_Even didn’t look at her, but he suspected she had put two and two together. She was too smart and knew him too well not to have figured it out._

_“What are you worried about?”_

_Even shrugged. There was no one answer to that question. “It could be more than what he signed up for.”_

_“But you’re taking your medications,” Sonja said carefully, a hint of a question in her tone._

_“I am. But it doesn’t mean shit. It’s not like taking an antibacterial medication. Taking pills isn’t going to stop me from being bipolar for the rest of my life, from having episodes, from being depressed and manic and bringing him down and making him feel sad.”_

_“Hey, no.” Sonja was in his space, wrapping her arms around him. “Look, we don’t know how he’s going to react. So, you can’t jump the gun here and make the choice for him because you don’t know what he’s capable of handling and what he’s not. But you have to tell him. Not right away, but when you think it’s time, when you feel like you might want something real with each other.”_

_“Why, so he can pull away when I’m completely gone for him? Great idea,” Even muttered._

_Sonja smacked the back of his head lightly. “No, so you can tell him about something that's a part of you, your life. And hey, if he’s being as much of a pining idiot as you are somewhere in Oslo right now, then something tells me he’s going to want to stick around. Not to mention, you're not a tough person to love, Even. Not at all.”_

_"You're not in love with me anymore," Even points out._

_"I'm not," Sonja concedes. "But you're not in love with me, either, so we're just two people who fell out of love with each other when it was time. And yet, I still love you and care about you and I think that proves my point."_

Even still doesn’t know how to answer Isak’s question. But he thinks he needs to start with a portion of the truth.

“I’m thinking that I like you,” he says softly. “Even though you’re the most snarky, frustrating person I’ve met. I like you and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you and I feel like when I spend time with you, things aren’t so—”

“So what?” Isak prompts, curious.

“Colorless.”

Even doesn’t think there’s any other way to put it. It sounds bleak to his own ears and it must to Isak, too, but he doesn’t laugh in Even’s face.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, you know, you’ve only watched black and white movies and it’s fine, it’s not terrible, but then you’re in the middle of watching a black and white movie and suddenly, everything shifts to color. The roses are red, the sky is blue, the sunflowers are yellow, it all—”

“—comes alive?” Isak guesses and he looks even more bashful now, but he wraps his arm around Even tighter. Presses a kiss to his jaw. “That’s a cool metaphor to tell someone you like them.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.”

“Do you have any for me?”

“Metaphors?”

Even nods. Isak’s face scrunches as he thinks for a few seconds, then he shakes his head. “No metaphors.”

“So disappointing,” Even mutters, and pretends to untangle himself from Isak. “Think I’ll go sleep in that other bed now.”

Isak rolls his eyes and tightens his hold on Even. “I have something.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re gonna call me a nerd.”

Even laughs. “I’m gonna call you a nerd no matter what.”

Isak scowls at him.

“What is it?” Even asks again.

“Parallel universes,” Isak says, a hint of uncontained excitement in his voice. “There are millions of different universes, but everything that could happen will happen and everything that’s happening now is happening, which means there are several different Isaks and Evens lying on a bed like this right now, but there’s something a little different. Like, they’re in a different hotel or some shit.”

“Different hotel, huh? So, Radisson Blu, then?” Even teases.

Isak smiles faintly. “Something like that. But it’s cool to think about, isn’t it? That in every universe, we meet each other and order expensive room service and give blowjobs in a hotel room.” There’s a cheeky grin on Isak’s face and Even can’t help but kiss him.

“Is that what science says? That we’re going to order expensive room service and give each other blowjobs?”

“It’s what science says. So you know it’s legit,” Isak says seriously, and Even laughs. 

* * *

Isak doesn’t remember falling asleep, but his alarm goes off at 10 a.m., just a few hours before he and Even need to meet up with Miss Berg and the other teams for a final practice round.

Only, Even’s not by his side. He checks his phone, but there’s only a text from Jonas, wishing him luck. But he doesn’t think much of it. Doesn’t notice anything amiss even though something about the room seems off. Even probably just went to get breakfast.

Isak showers and changes. It’s the nationals; he feels the need to dress up a little more than he usually does, so he wears a button-up shirt and dark jeans before heading downstairs to the breakfast room.

He doesn’t even have the chance to look around for Even because Miss Berg and Vilde are rushing toward him, both with identical looks of alarm on their faces.

“OK, Isak, there’s been a change of plans.” Miss Berg at least sounds a lot more put together than she looks. “You’re going to be teaming up with Vilde and Emma’s going to join Anders and Lukas’ team.”

“But I’m already in a team with Even,” Isak says, confused.

Miss Berg shakes her head. She somehow looks sympathetic and devastated at the same time. “He left.”

Isak feels like he’s experiencing the seven stages of grief because the first thing he feels is shock. “What do you mean he left?” Followed by denial. “We were in the room all night; he couldn’t have gone anywhere.”

He must be shaking because Vilde’s by his side, holding his hand.

“I’m afraid I can’t say much more,” Miss Berg tells him. “But you and Vilde should use the next few hours to practice.”

“Yes, we will,” Vilde says, and before Isak has a chance to say anything else, she drags him away from the breakfast room and up to the tenth floor.

Isak’s still processing the news because he can’t even bring himself to ask her what the fuck she’s doing.

“He went back to Oslo,” Vilde finally says. “He said he couldn’t do it. Looked like shit.”

“You _saw_ him?” Isak rounds on Vilde and she nods.

“I couldn’t sleep. Nerves, you know? So I was up pretty early getting coffee from the lobby and so was Miss Berg. Even came downstairs with all his stuff—”

That sets something off in Isak’s brain. There _had_ been something missing from his room—all of Even’s stuff. Everything had been gone when he had woken up.

“—and he told Miss Berg that he wasn’t feeling well, that he didn’t think he could participate in the competition—”

“What do you mean he wasn’t feeling well?” Isak interrupts. “He was fine last night.”

Vilde shrugs, looks helpless. “I don’t know.” But she bites her lip, and Isak feels like he knows—he just knows—that she’s not telling him everything.

“Vilde, _what?_ ” he snaps.

He regrets it when she flinches, but his mind is reeling from the information. Even went back to Oslo. He didn’t tell Isak, didn’t even wake Isak to tell him as much. He wasn’t feeling well even though he had been perfectly fine last night. Isak just doesn’t fucking understand.

“I just—I don’t know if it’s true.”

“Don’t know _what’s_ true?”

Vilde shakes her head, looks pained. “It’s some things I heard from the Bakka kids. About why he transferred, why he had to redo his final year at Nissen.”

“Well, what the fuck is it?”

Vilde’s quiet for a few seconds, and Isak feels like he’s about to scream. “Did something happen? Between you and Even?” she asks, hesitant, but then juts her chin up at Isak, looking defiant. “Don’t start yelling at me. There are hickeys on your neck and I’m wondering because whatever I tell you next is going to depend on your answer. Do you like him?”

Isak stares at her, wonders what the fuck this has to do with anything when the most important thing is that Even’s fucking _gone_ , but Vilde waits for his answer, so he just nods, sinks down on the bed.

“Does he like you?” she asks, taking the seat next to him.

Isak shrugs. “Thought he did,” he mutters.

Vilde holds his hand again, and he doesn’t try to fight it. Somehow, it’s comforting. “I don’t know how true it is, what the Bakka kids were saying,” she starts, careful, “but they were his teammates and they didn’t sound spiteful.”

“What is it, Vilde?” To his credit, he doesn’t sound as angry. Just tired.

“If it’s true, I think it’s something he should tell you,” Vilde says quietly. “Because I think he’ll want to at some point if he really likes you and cares about you. And I think he deserves to have that choice just the way you deserve to have the choice to decide who you come out to and when.”

In theory, Vilde’s words should make sense to him, but they don’t. He’s just more confused and frustrated than before.

Vilde leaves after forcing Isak to promise that he’ll go down to her room and eat some of the breakfast she plans to sneak out of the dining room. As soon as she’s gone, he collapses on the pillow Even laid on and clutches it tightly, his head swimming. Something crinkles, and Isak sits up to retrieve a piece of paper.

It’s a drawing with two panels. 

One panel shows Even sitting in a train alone. The other shows Isak and Even eating breakfast with big grins on their faces. The words “in another universe” are written underneath.

Isak wants to cry out of the frustration he feels. He doesn’t understand shit.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've read this far, you know i lied and this isn't the last chapter 
> 
> i think i needed to get the lack of angst out of my system lol 
> 
> but i swear things aren't nearly as angsty as it seems in this chapter and the last chapter will wrap everything up and even will have some proper reconciliations and happy endings!!!


	6. a push and a pull and the land is ours

Bakka wins, Nissen loses, and Isak doesn’t even care.

* * *

Skipping a week of school isn’t the wisest decision Even’s ever made, especially because excessive skipping was part of the reason he had to repeat Year 13 all over again. But he promises himself he’ll go next week.

He sends a text to Isak. Just one that says a simple ‘I’m sorry.’

Isak doesn’t respond until Even thinks he’s back from Bergen.

> **Isak**
> 
> Hi. Thanks for the drawing. Can we talk?

Even’s not deliberately trying to avoid Isak, but he also doesn’t know what to say. After he up and left after the night he’d had with Isak, what _can_ he say? He certainly can’t tell Isak that he felt himself slipping into a depressive episode. He couldn’t tell him that the prospect of starting a relationship with Isak scared the shit out of him. He couldn’t tell him that he wanted it all the same. He couldn’t. Not after he had royally fucked himself over by leaving.

He receives a few texts from Vilde, telling him they lost, that she hoped Even was doing better, that he should consider talking to Isak when he’s ready. It’s almost frustrating how many people have suggested the same thing. Granted, the only other person’s been Sonja, but the fact that Vilde somehow knows, too, makes it one too many people.

To his credit, he spends his week somewhat productively. A girl he sits next to in class sends him notes, and he wills himself to go to KB every afternoon and get his homework out of the way. Alone in his apartment, he knows he’s just going to end up sleeping away the days.

“Can I sit here?”

It’s his third consecutive afternoon in KB, but this is the first time Even feels his entire body shut down.

There’s no mistaking that voice, never mind the fact that he hasn’t heard it in almost six months. He glances up, and finds Mikael looking back at him, tentative and nervous.

Even’s not even sure if he nods, but a few moments later, Mikael’s sitting on the stool next to his. They both spend several minutes darting glances at each other, then looking out of the window, then surreptitiously looking at each other again.

“Hi.” It’s Mikael who breaks his silence first. “I wasn’t sure if you were still in Oslo. Been so long since I’ve seen you.” He laughs, and Even feels himself missing Mikael all over again with an ache that makes him want to double over.

“Been a while,” Even finally says because he has to say something.

“Sana—she, uh, said something to Elias about how you’re going to Nissen. You should, you know—you should come hang out with us. Everyone. It’s not the same without you.”

Even nods, but can’t bring himself to say anything. An awkward lull befalls the conversation, and Mikael starts to look more nervous.

“Even.” His tone’s pleading. “You have to talk to us, you have to talk to me. At some point. It doesn’t have to be right now, but I’m going to say this right now because I feel like it’s time you heard it andI’ve waited really fucked long for something like this, us running into each other without any pre-planning, to happen.”

Even feels his hands start to shake, but he meets Mikael’s gaze. “We love you, we care about you. Always have, always will,” Mikael says quietly. “I was trying to give you space—we all were—but I didn’t think you’d misinterpret that as us not giving a shit about you. We understand things better now, OK? And I know—I know that may be hard to believe, but I’ve been doing some reading—the boys, too—we didn’t want to be insensitive dicks—”

Even can’t help but interrupt Mikael’s monologue with a surprised little laugh. Mikael looks taken aback, but then he smiles back.

“I missed you.” Mikael touches his arm, like he’s not sure if a hug would be welcome.

“Missed you, too, Mik,” Even says honestly. 

Mikael grins, wide and familiar and infectious, and pulls him into a hug, this time without any hesitation.

**

Even doesn’t know how it happens, but Mikael has always been capable of convincing him to do things he wouldn’t otherwise do. Standing in front of the Bakkoush house after months, Mikael by his side, is no exception.

Elias opens the door, but he doesn’t look surprised to see Even. Mikael must’ve texted them in the group chat that Even had left right after he’d gotten out of the hospital.

“Even.” Despite whatever warning he may have received in advance, Elias still looks stunned. “Great to see you, bro.”

Elias hugs him, too, and something settles in Even’s chest. It’s all so familiar. Elias, Mikael, the rest of the boys, probably, even though Even knows nothing about what they’ve all been up to since leaving Bakka. At the root of everything is the fact that they’re the same people.

“Great to see you, too, Elias,” Mikael pipes up sarcastically.

“Fuck off,” Elias retorts. “I see you all the goddamn time. Maybe too much.”

Their banter does the trick, though. Even feels at ease.

At least he does until he walks inside and hears the commotion inside. It’s instantly familiar and unsettling at the same time. But Adam, Mutta, and Yousef don’t look any more surprised to see him than Elias had. They all greet him with hugs and things resume to normal almost right away. He would think it was suspiciously staged if his friends weren’t so good at being determined to act casual. And maybe they weren't acting. Maybe everything was in Even's head. 

“Hey, bro, did Mik tell you Sana’s got a boy in her room and Elias has been paranoid as shit?” Adam asks, nudging him.

Even shakes his head, but glances over at Yousef on instinct, because everyone—except Elias and Sana themselves—knows about Yousef’s several-years-too-long-to-be-appropriate crush on Sana. As he had predicted, Yousef’s ears perk up.

“There’s a boy in her room? Who?” he asks.

Adam, Mutta, and Mikael smirk at Yousef, but Elias just points at him emphatically. “See? Yousef’s concerned, too. So, we need to find out what’s happening.”

Mutta laughs in disbelief. “He’s not concerned, he’s just completely go—” But Yousef fixes him with a glare and Mutta shuts up.

“Besides, you sure you want that, Elias? You want to find out what’s happening?” Mikael asks, slow and deliberate until the meaning behind his words finally sinks in and Elias pulls a face.

“Ugh, gross, that’s my sister. Beside, have you met Sana? There’s no way anything’s happening.”

“Not to mention, there’s the whole lack of respect for her privacy that’s going on here that’s even more gross,” Yousef finally adds, but the words only earn him a glare from Elias.

“Thought you were on my side,” Elias grumbles.

Even observes it all, feels like an outsider, but he doesn’t know how to chime in, doesn’t know if his thoughts would be out-of-place after he had practically spent six months ignoring his friends.

“Even, what do you think?” Mutta asks, and there are five pairs of eyes on him, two of which are looking at him carefully, like their every hope and dream will be determined by what Even says next.

Secretly, he agrees that it’s an invasion of Sana’s privacy even though Even’s sympathetic to Yousef’s plight.

He gets it. Gets how painful it can be when you like someone so long and so hard that even the prospect of a different person existing in that someone’s life in a similar capacity is not even threatening as much as it is crushing.

He had briefly felt that when Emma flitted in and out of Isak’s life like a desperate butterfly. But he hadn’t been pining after Isak for years, so he can’t even entirely relate to what Yousef’s feeling.

“Uh, I think—”

A man moans loudly and everyone freezes.

“Fucking hell, I can’t _believe_ —” Elias starts to say, but before he has a chance to finish his sentence, before all hell can actually break loose, Sana comes out of her room, looking smug.

“The fuck is going on?” Elias demands.

“Did you think I didn’t know you and your idiot friends were trying to spy on me?” Sana retorts, crossing her arms across her chest. “So, we decided to fuck with you.” There’s someone at Sana’s tail, someone tall and blonde with curly hair, and this time, Isak and Even freeze.

Sana and Elias continue arguing until—

“Hi.”

Isak looks surprised that Even addresses him, and honestly, Even’s a little surprised himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers that Sana and Elias have stopped arguing and everyone else is looking between him and Isak.

“Hi,” Isak returns, guarded. 

* * *

Isak and Even are probably staring at each other too long for it be considered entirely normal, but the first thing Isak feels is relief. Relief to finally see Even. The second thing Isak feels is a little less pleasant. Taking the Jonas’ advice, he’d mustered the courage to finally text Even.

And gotten nothing.

“Holy shit, you’re that guy.”

One of Elias’ friends speaks. Isak vaguely recognizes him from the debate team at Bakka. He nudges another guy—Mikael, Isak thinks.

“Mik, isn’t that—”

“It is,” Even interrupts, with gritted teeth.

Isak looks at him in confusion, but he realizes that everyone, save for Sana, is staring between him and Even in amazement.

“You two are OK with being in the same room now?” Isak finally remembers his name. Mutta.

Isak shrugs, and notices Even does the same. But Even looks uncomfortable, so Isak clears his throats and glances back at Sana.

“I have to go,” he mutters. “Promised the boys I’d meet up with them.”

It’s a blatant lie and Sana looks like she doesn’t quite believe him, but thankfully, she doesn’t say anything. He gives a small nod at the boys, but steadfastly avoids Even’s gaze.

Isak’s taken around ten steps past the house when a hand closes around his arm. He’s not sure he expects it as much as a part of him had just been hoping for it.

“Can we talk?”

“Pretty sure I already asked you that,” Isak mutters.

Even winces. “I know, I wasn’t trying to—can we? I owe you some explanations.”

Isak manages a nod.

**

They both sit across from each other with two steaming mugs of coffee, and Isak supposes it could pass for a date if it wasn’t for the obvious and suffocating tension between them. But he doesn’t say anything—just waits for Even to break the silence.

“I’m sorry you lost,” Even finally says.

And it’s the last thing Isak’s expecting to hear, but he fights the urge to say something hurtful. Even promised him an explanation. Judging from what Vilde had told him, whatever Even wanted to say would require some effort. He needed to be patient. Needed to keep his cool.

“Tough competition,” Isak mutters instead.

Even’s lips tug up at the corners, but he looks nervous. “I’m also sorry I left.”

“Why did you?”

Even doesn’t say anything for a few moments. “I’m bipolar,” he says. “That’s why I had to leave Bakka. Because I had an episode in the middle of the canteen and everyone saw. I missed a lot of school, too, so I had to start over. I just—after that night, I thought—I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”

The influx of information is a lot. He tries to process every word Even says. He knows about bipolar disorder. He remembers Magnus telling him that his mom was bipolar. Isak racks his brain, tries to summon everything else he knows, but the information isn’t much. Even seems to guess as much because he continues.

“I have manic and depressive episodes,” Even says. “I take medication to stabilize my moods and it’s good most of the time, but sometimes it’s not.”

Isak nods. “I get that.”

Even doesn’t look convinced. “Do you?”

“Yeah. My mamma—she started seeing and hearing things that weren’t there. She was convinced Donald Trump was my uncle—he’s not,” Isak adds quickly. “She thought our neighbor was the devil in disguise. My pappa and I didn’t know what was wrong with her, but we didn’t find out—until it was a little too late, maybe—that she’s schizophrenic. I don’t live with her, but um, I visit her and some days are good, some days are bad. So, yeah, I kind of get it.”

* * *

Even doesn’t know what to do with the information, but he thinks he had given Isak less credit than he deserved.

“Thank you for telling me,” Isak says, and his face looks a little redder. “But, uh, it hasn’t changed anything. I still think things aren’t colorless when you’re around.”

Isak’s leg hooks around Even’s ankle, and Even feels like his heart is going to explode out of his chest.

“You stole my metaphor.”

Isak shakes his head and smiles a little. “Can’t copyright a metaphor.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” Isak argues, pulling out his phone as if to double-check it.

“What, are you worried I might be right?”

“No.”

“What are you typing on your phone, then? Seems like you’re not certain you’re right.”

Isak rolls his eyes, but puts his phone down on the table. “I know I am.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

They go back-and-forth for a few minutes, and Even wonders if this is how it’s always going to be—he hopes it is.

* * *

**A YEAR LATER**

“Eskild,” Isak complains when his death-grip of a hug lasts too long to be comfortable. It’s doubly uncomfortable because his arm tires of holding the trophy.

“Complains when I do hug him, complains when I don’t hug him—I really don’t know what to do with this kid,” Eskild mutters to Linn. She nods in understanding. 

Isak rolls his eyes and makes his way over to Even, who’s chatting with the boys. When he sees Isak, he greets him a quick kiss on the lips and Isak puts his arm around his waist, squeezing in between Mikael and Jonas. Isak talks to them for a few minutes before Magnus spots Vilde, who’s also holding a trophy, and they flock to congratulate her.

“Got a surprise for you at home,” Even mutters after giving Isak a longer kiss. Isak doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of Even calling their messy little apartment home.

“The fuck? You didn’t even know I would win,” Isak points out with a laugh.

“If you had lost, it would’ve cheered you up, so either way.” Even shrugs.

“What did you get me? Sparkling wine?”

Even shakes his head, but he’s grinning.

“Beer?” Isak guesses, giving Even’s lips another peck.

“I did get you beer, but no.”

“Cake?”

“No.”

“Handcuffs and a blindfold?”

Even raises his eyebrows. “No, but I know what to get you for your birthday now.”

Isak grins cheekily and shrugs. “I give up, then.”

“I don’t know if you deserve this trophy anymore.” Even tugs at the trophy in his hands.

“Nah, I won for debating, not for playing guessing games.”

Even hums in agreement and leans in to kiss Isak again.

“So, what is it?” Isak asks.

“Took the clothes out of the dryer,” Even replies. 

Isak groans. “I don’t think you know what surprises are.”

“And I folded it.”

“ _And_ you folded it? No way,” Isak mutters sarcastically, but he’s grinning like an idiot all the same.

Isak doesn’t think his first temper tantrum of ‘99 was a result of the deep-seated realization that Even Bech Næsheim existed somewhere in the world anymore.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! <3


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